


Patchwork Faith

by ChelseaLuvsUnicorns



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-11 21:11:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 57,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9026536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChelseaLuvsUnicorns/pseuds/ChelseaLuvsUnicorns
Summary: In 1857 England, Rose Peabody and her family are captivated by the testimonies of two Mormon Muggle missionaries, and are baptized as members of the LDS church. Deciding to leave behind their comfortable wizarding home to join their fellow Saints in the Salt Lake Valley, the Peabodys embark across the sea and the American wilderness on a journey – one that will test them both physically and spiritually.





	1. Part 1 (June 9, 1857)

The brilliant June sun beat down on her as she exited the pub door. The sign bearing its name, The Leaky Cauldron, glistened in the sunlight, though to the unsuspecting Muggle passerby the establishment appeared as nothing more than a withered old shop.  
Rose Peabody secured her bonnet around her chin, hearing Mother’s voice repeated in her head: _“Take care not to let your skin burn, dear.”_ Though her brother Maxwell turned a beautiful bronze-gold in the sun, Rose had the misfortune of turning a horrific pink — one that would scab and peel rather than fade away gently.   
Today Father had sent her on an errand to Diagon Alley to purchase a slab of dragon meat. Dragon meat was a rarity to come by, as dragons were nearing extinction in Britain, and the legalities of harvesting their bodies were complex. As such, the two pounds of meat she bought cost the equivalent of the family’s entire income for the week. It was worth it though, her parents assured her — dragon meat held many magical properties, one of them being the ability to keep a person full for much longer than ordinary food. Upon hearing the news that an entire leg had been donated to Diagon Alley to sell, Father was eager to buy a share. “The last time I had dragon meat, I was about your age,” he’d said. “I didn’t eat again until five days later, and I don’t recall getting so much as a cold the rest of the year.”  
Keeping the cylinder package tucked safely under her arm, Rose hurried along the cobbled street. By London’s standards it was a very warm day, and although the meat was wrapped in paper bewitched with a cooling charm, it would surely spoil if it was left unfrozen for too long. Sweat began to trickle down her forehead as she wound her way through four different streets, finally arriving at her family’s townhouse. The home, although in the midst of a dozen others, was fully concealed from Muggles.   
She walked through the door and found Mother asleep on the sofa. Mother had been ill for several days now, and Father was certain that after eating a small chunk of the dragon meat, she would be well again. She awoke at Rose’s entrance.   
“Rose,” she said, a faint smile forming on her lips. “were you able to…?”  
“Yes, Mother,” Rose replied, showing her the package. “But they were nearly out — I got one of the last slabs.”  
Mother slowly laid her head back on the pillow and shut her eyes, breathing a sigh of relief. “Oh, praise be to God. If we hadn’t gotten this, who knows how much longer I would be under the weather; no potion seems to be doing the trick.”  
“Would you like me to go cook some up for you now?”  
“That would be lovely, darling, thank you.”  
Rose went into the kitchen, sliced off a piece of meat, and prepared it for consumption. She put it on a small china plate with a fork and brought it into the lounge where Mother remained lying. Fanny, Rose’s six-year-old sister, was crouched on the floor next to her, stroking her hair. She turned to Rose and asked, “When will she get better?”  
“Hopefully as soon as she eats this. Here.” She handed the plate to Mother, who accepted it with gratitude and began eating.   
“I declare, I can feel the spark of life coming back into me already!” Mother said as she finished the last bite. “It seems your father was right about this meat.”  
Rose and Fanny exchanged hopeful looks.  
At that moment there came a voice from upstairs: “Rose, child? Are you there?”  
“Go on,” Mother said to Rose. “See what it is she wants.”  
The voice upstairs belonged to Ruth Jenkins, an elderly witch the Peabodys had taken in after the death of her husband earlier that year. The two families had been friends and neighbors for nearly eight years prior, but when Archibald Jenkins died, his widow fell into a state of deep depression, and due to her advanced age, was unable to care for herself. As she had no living relatives, the Peabodys made the decision to invite her into their home. “We can’t just let that poor old woman live out the rest of her days in such loneliness,” Mother had said, and Father agreed. For a period after Archibald’s death, she barely spoke a word, and refused to leave her allotted bedroom save for trips to the toilet.   
Once she began speaking again, however, she informed them she had known all along that her husband was inevitably going to pass away at the time he did. Ruth was a Seer, and had made several earlier prophecies that ended up coming true. For instance, she once predicted that Rose was going to lose something very valuable in an upcoming picnic in the park. Being young and careless, Rose disregarded her warning. Three weeks later, the family had lunch in the park. After they returned home, Rose noticed that her locket — a precious family heirloom that had been passed down to the eldest daughter on her mother’s line for seven generations, and something that she wore around her neck everywhere she went — was gone. There was no question that she had worn it to the park that day — she _remembered_ having it on there — but she hadn’t the faintest idea how or where it could have fallen off. The family frantically searched the park, tracing each and every step they’d taken. Their efforts were in vain, however, and the locket was never found. “I wouldn’t put too much faith into these prophecies of hers,” Father had told her after Rose admitted to him that the old woman had warned her about losing something valuable. “Even a stopped clock is right twice a day.” Nevertheless, from there on out the Peabody children took extra precautions whenever Ruth issued them a warning involving a misfortune about to befall their family, no matter how insignificant. Ruth’s predictions came randomly, and it was impossible for her to tune in to one particular event she wanted to know the outcome of.   
It wasn’t until she tearfully approached them and explained how she knew about her husband’s death, down to the exact date it happened, that Mother and Father gained true respect for her as a Seer. “I knew that he was going to die, but I also knew that there was nothing anyone could do to prevent it,” she said. “I didn’t tell him because I didn’t want to worry him — I thought it best that we enjoy our last days together in happiness without such a dark fear looming over us.”  
Rose ascended the wooden staircase to the upper floor of the house. She turned left and walked to the end of the hallway. Ruth’s room was the smallest in the house, but she assured them she didn’t mind. Blue silk curtains draped over the window, and her canopy bed was covered with an eloquent quilt: a gift given to her by a Welsh witch in gratitude for warning her about a situation that would have cost her her life if she had not taken Ruth’s advice to avoid it. The patchwork quilt was intricately sewn, with each square containing a different scene from nature. In the top left corner was a wooded area encompassing a small, turquoise pool, and in the lower right corner was a piece of an arctic tundra, overlooked by a piercing blue sky. In between the two was an array of everything else imaginable on earth. Rose couldn’t help but marvel at the magnificent quilt every time she entered the room. She often wondered if the witch had actually visited each of these places, and if so, how vast her knowledge of the outside world must be.   
Ruth sat in her sturdy rocking chair, gazing serenely out the window at the street below. Rose’s footsteps made small creaks on the floorboards, alerting the old woman to her presence.   
“Ah, child, you’ve come,” Ruth said, not averting her eyes from the window.   
“Is there something you’d like, ma’am?” Rose asked.   
“I’ll be frank,” Ruth replied, turning her head to look at Rose. “I’ve had a dream…just now…I was sitting here watching the activity outside, and I dozed off for about twenty minutes.”  
Rose felt her stomach lurch slightly — Ruth’s dreams were more often than not the harbinger of some misfortune to come, and the fact that she had called her into the room personally meant that this particular dream probably concerned her specifically.   
“What was the dream about?” she asked in a worried, monotonous tone, though she already knew the answer deep down.  
“Your family, dear. Perhaps you ought to sit down while I explain it.”  
Rose took a seat on the bed and braced herself for the worst.  
“Now, let me clear, I do not believe this to have been some regular dream. I strongly feel that it was prophetic in nature.”  
“Was it a warning?”  
“No, not quite. More or less just a sampling of what is to come. I didn’t feel it was particularly a negative thing.”  
A weight lifted off Rose’s chest.  
“However,” Ruth continued, “I did find it interesting. Your folks haven’t been talking about moving away as of late, have they?”  
“No,” Rose answered, frowning. “Not at all. Was that what your dream was about? Us leaving?”  
“Indeed. I thought it best to inquire of you — not wishing to pry into your parents’ personal affairs, you’ll understand. But seeing as I’ve nowhere else to go, I would naturally be concerned…”  
“Even if we did move, you don’t really think we’d leave you behind, do you?”  
“No, no, of course not, child. It’s just that somehow I got the feeling…Ah, never mind. I said that the dream seemed to foretell the future, but I think, this once, I may be wrong. More than likely it was just the paranoid imagination of a lonely, grieving old bat.”  
“You know, you’re probably right about that,” Rose said, taking her hand. “You’ve been through a lot with losing your husband. It’s only natural that you’d be distressed. But I can assure you, you’re a part of our family now — you won’t be alone as long as we’re here.”  
Ruth smiled gently, and Rose saw a tear trickle down her cheek. “I know that, child. You and your folks have been so kind to me these past several months. If it weren’t for you, I really don’t know where I’d be right now.”  
“We won’t leave you. I promise.”  
Feeling lighthearted and relieved, Rose left the room. _Poor lady,_ she thought. I wonder what on earth she saw in her dream.   
“What did Ruth want?” Mother asked when she came back downstairs.   
Rose lowered her voice. “I think she dreamt that we went away somewhere and left her behind. She was really upset.”  
“Poor thing. You know, sometimes I think those dreams do more harm to her than good.”  
“I think so too. I told her that we wouldn’t leave her.”  
Mother pulled Rose towards her on the sofa and kissed her forehead. “That’s my sweet girl.”  
“How are you feeling, Mother? Is the dragon meat still helping?”  
Mother smiled, and her face flushed with a bright glow. “Why, yes! I _might_ just be able to whip up supper tonight.”  
Rose had been responsible for the family’s meals while Mother had been sick. At thirteen she’d had quite a few years of cooking experience, but her skill was still far from the level of Mother’s. It didn’t help that she wasn’t allowed to use magic outside of school, and had to prepare everything by hand. Therefore, it might just have been the recollection of Tuesday night’s burnt casserole, or yesterday’s soggy almond and turkey sandwiches, that evoked excited smiles of the faces of Rose’s younger siblings at Mother’s declaration.   
“Can we have the dragon meat?” Maxwell asked.   
“I’m afraid not,” Mother replied. “That meat is to be preserved — we ought to eat it sparingly, and only in times of real need.”  
Just then the front door opened, and Rose’s father entered the house. Maxwell and Fanny bounded forward to greet him, and Rose saw him slip two peppermint sticks into each of their hands.   
“Lucy!” Father said, bending down to kiss Mother. “How are you, dear?”  
“Quite well. Rose here brought back a good chunk of that dragon meat from Diagon Alley. I must say, it’s already working its wonders.”  
Father nodded. “Yes, I told you it was the best.”  
“How were things at the Ministry?” Mother asked.  
“Fine,” Father answered, removing his pointed wizard hat at placing it on the coat hanger. With a slight chuckle he added, “No arrests today — quite the improvement from last week.”  
Father worked for the Ministry of Magic, in The Department of Magical Law Enforcement. His particular branch of the Department, The Improper Use of Magic Office, was responsible for upholding laws regarding the Statute of Secrecy, and use of underage magic. He would often come home with the most outlandish stories of wizards pranking their Muggle neighbors with magic, and rogues doing everything in their power to sabotage the wizarding community by exposing magic to the non-magical population. Thankfully these outlaws never got very far before being apprehended by the Ministry. The enlightened Muggles were always Obliviated before they had the chance to run to the newspapers with their newfound discoveries.  
Sure enough, Mother had made a full recovery by dinnertime. She treated the family with their favorite meal: gillyweed chicken with creamed corn, and treacle tart for dessert. It was a celebratory night for everyone — everyone except Ruth, that was. She made not a peep at the table, only smiling politely whenever somebody made a joke or shared a bit of good news. In fact, Rose noticed that she looked agitated most of the time.  
“Is Ruth all right?” Father asked Mother after the old woman had left the table. “She didn’t say a word. Usually she’s quite engaged with the children’s conversation.”  
Mother sighted. “Oh, it’s nothing, I’m sure. She told Rose she had some sort of dream about being abandoned. I mean, you know how she can be with those dreams, Timothy…”  
Father took a sip from his glass of wine and nodded. “Yes. It’s only been four months since Archie died. She’ll still need some time.”  
“And who could blame her?” Mother agreed. 

Rose went to bed that night with Ruth on her mind. She imagined what it must feel like to be old and alone. _I don’t even think I want to get married,_ she thought. _What good does it do to devote your life to someone, become so emotionally attached to them, and then just have them die? She then turned her thoughts to her own family, hoping that she would die before them. They’re everything to me — I couldn’t live without them._ Her heart feeling heavy, she finally drifted off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day Rose got an owl saying that the father of her best friend from school, Millie Bart, had passed away unexpectedly in his sleep three nights ago.   
“Oh, dear!” Mother cried when Rose had tearfully shown her the letter. “Poor child…to lose her father so young…”  
Arrangements were made for Rose to attend the funeral in Liverpool the following week. School had let out not but a month ago, and as far as Rose knew, Millie’s father had been fine then — she hadn’t mentioned him being ill or anything. Why did it have to happen? Why, especially, to a good family like the Barts? It wasn’t fair, Rose thought.   
She went to the funeral, offered her condolences to Millie and her folks, and immediately set for home, thinking it best to allow the family to grieve in private. For the next several days she spent most of her time locked in her room. She didn’t know why she was so affected by the death of Millie’s father, but she was. If it could happen to Mr. Bart, she reasoned, then surely it could happen to her own father — or mother — or even siblings. No, she couldn’t bear the thought of such a thing, yet the notion kept creeping into her head, like a hideous ghoul that you just couldn’t rid from your home.  
Her family had never been very religious, but somehow, she couldn’t shake the idea that a God could actually exist, and that he or she had a much better place waiting on the other side for departed spirits. Could Ruth’s husband and Millie’s father be with God? Was it possible that their souls lived on, despite the evident death of their physical bodies?  
As she searched multiple religious texts, both Muggle and magical, it became apparent to Rose that these weren’t the sort of answers one could assuredly find in a book. How could any of these texts be right, when each professed a distinctly different dogma and idea of a higher power?  
One day, not long after the funeral, Rose approached Mother with her concerns, something she had not yet worked up the courage to do. She asked Mother for her view on the matter, and how she had arrived at the conclusion she did.  
“I don’t think this is the answer you want to hear, darling,” Mother said as she folded the laundry with a wave of her wand, “but I _don’t_ know the truth of such things. I don’t think anybody truly does.”  
“There has to be a way one can know for sure,” Rose insisted. “Would God really send us into this world without the knowledge of who he is? How could he expect us to go through life not knowing — being so confused?”  
Mother sighed. “Again, honey, we just don’t know.”  
“Do you think people live on after death?”  
“In a way.”  
That afternoon Rose took ride on her broom over to a nearby meadow, hoping that a trip of solitude into the peaceful wilderness might evoke an epiphany of sorts. In a knapsack she brought a light lunch: an apple, a slice of bread, and a cube of goat cheese. She sat down with her back against an oak tree and began eating. Her attention centered on the many different birds and their songs. She counted at least four different tunes, and wondered what birds made which sounds — she was no bird expert.   
As she listened to the birds’ songs and watched the rippling of the lake off yonder, it occurred to her how beautiful the natural world was. Of course, she had noticed it before, but now it was different. Somehow, she felt an even deeper sense of reverence for the earth and all it’s life forms; she even found herself in awe of the ants which were nibbling at her fallen bread crumbs. It was remarkable, really, how such a tiny organism could sustain life and carry out its basic functions.   
Just as she was packing up and getting ready to head back home, she heard a near distant chatter — it seemed to be that of two, maybe three young men. Within seconds they appeared, walking out on horseback from behind a trail leading to the other side of the trees. As they drew closer Rose was able to make out their features relatively easily: the first one was blond with a trimmed beard; the second was dark-haired with no facial hair. Both were wearing black suits and appeared to be not much older than she.   
“Hello, miss,” the blond one said, tipping his hat to her.   
“How do you do?” Rose replied.  
“Just fine, thanks. I’m Elder Harris, and this — ” he jerked his head to the dark one, who smiled and waved “ — is Elder Sage.”  
Rose managed to hide her confusion at two young men — boys, really — going by the title “Elder”, thinking it improper to inquire of it. Instead, she introduced herself. “I’m Rose Peabody.”  
The two men dismounted their horses and walked over to her. “Well, Rose,” said the one called Elder Sage, “I’m going to venture a guess that you work as a maid somewhere nearby.” He nodded in the direction of her broom, which was laying in the grass on the far side of her.   
For a split second her heart stopped. How was she going to explain the broom? She could instinctively tell that the two men were Muggles. “I — yes, yes I do,” she improvised. “I work for a wealthy family in town. I was just heading home and thought I would stop at the lake for a while.”  
The one called Elder Harris smiled. “Miss Peabody, Elder Sage and I are missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I wonder if we might have a moment?”  
Oh, yes, Rose had heard of this lot. “Mormons”, as they were frequently monikered, were a newly founded religious group from America. Muggle newspapers detailed their arrival in England, and rumor had it that a wizarding family from up north had already taken sail to join them in the New World.   
“Yes,” Rose answered, more for the sake of politeness than anything.  
“If we might ask,” Elder Sage said, “do you have any sort of belief in God?”  
Rose smiled sheepishly. “Well, to be honest, I’ve been wondering about that very thing.”  
“Hmm,” Elder Harris said, squinting his bright blue eyes. “Do your folks live nearby?”  
“Why do you ask?”  
“Would it be all right if we met them?”  
Feeling she couldn’t say no, Rose agreed, and led them back to her home. The missionaries introduced themselves to the rest of the family and explained how they’d met Rose. When it came time for them to share their message, Mother insisted they get comfortable around the dining room table.   
For close to a half an hour the two men detailed an image of God Rose had never imagined before: one who desperately wanted his children to return to him, and continued speaking to his servants today as he had in times of old. They spoke of the late prophet Joseph Smith, who, thirty-seven years prior, had beheld God and his Son in the flesh, initiating the restoration of Christ’s gospel on the earth. Perhaps greatest to hear, Rose thought, was the promise of eternal families.  
Before they left, the young Elders left the Peabodys with a book entitled The Book of Mormon. This, they told them, was an ancient record of peoples who lived in the Americas thousands of years ago. They assured them that much like the Bible, The Book of Mormon testified of Jesus Christ and his miracles.   
After they left, Fanny asked Mother, “Do you think all that’s true? Did the boy _really_ see God and Jesus?”  
Mother smiled bittersweetly. “I don’t think so, honey. Muggles and their propensity toward religion, I…Well, I believe they often see and feel what they want to.”   
“What do you mean?” Fanny probed, sitting down next to Mother on the divan and gazing up at her intently.   
“Well, I would venture to say most people — wizards _and_ Muggles — would like to believe in a supreme being, an ultimate power who loves and watches over them. However, to put it simply, outside of people’s desires, there is no reason to believe that such a creator actually exists. It’s just something people believe, either because it’s been passed down to them through the generations, because it makes them feel better, or both.”  
Fanny dropped her head, a slight pout forming on her lips. “So God isn’t real after all?”  
“I didn’t say that, darling,” Mother said, putting her arm around her. “I’m saying nobody knows. I told your sister the same thing this morning.”  
Somewhat reluctantly, Rose nodded.   
Fanny turned to Father, who was flipping through the pages of The Book of Mormon in the corner. “What do you think, Father?”  
“I think your Mother’s right,” he muttered, frowning as he stopped on one page. “We have no evidence either way.”  
“Do you mind if I have a look at that?” Rose asked him, nodding at the book. “After you’re done, I mean.”  
“I’m done now,” he said with a sigh, handing it to his daughter. “But don’t get your hopes up — seems to be a load of hogwash. Probably mostly fabricated, and partly plagiarized from the Bible.”  
His lack of approval did not curb Rose’s curiosity. From the minute she finished her supper that night to the time she went to bed, she eagerly turned page after page of The Book of Mormon, becoming engrossed in the world of Nephi and his family. When she woke up the next day she hurriedly did her chores so she could resume reading. The story quickly shifted from Nephi and family in Jerusalem, to their journey across the sea to America, to great battles between the Nephites and the Lamanites. After seeing Rose’s keen interest, Mother and Maxwell took up the book as well, taking turns reading between chores. Eventually even Father came around, deciding to give the “hogwash” an honest chance. And while far beyond Fanny’s individual reading level, Mother agreed to read the book along with her whenever she wished. The only one in the house who seemed to have no interest in The Book of Mormon whatsoever was Ruth. It was almost as if she made it a point to leave the room whenever the topic came up.   
“Did you get to the part about Helaman and the warriors?” Rose had asked her parents over breakfast one morning. As soon as she did, Ruth smiled at them apologetically, and slowly left the table to go back upstairs.   
“What’s wrong with _her?”_ Maxwell asked, rolling his eyes slightly as he buttered a biscuit.   
“Be kind, Max,” Mother chided him.   
“Well, seriously, what’s her issue? Is she allergic to religion or something?” he joked, and Fanny giggled.   
“Son, you have to understand,” Father said gravely, “Ruth grew up during the tail end of a time in which our people suffered terribly at the hands of those professing to be followers of Christ — as a little girl, she very likely would have heard stories of unspeakable horrors from her grandparents and great-grandparents.”  
Rose thought back to the many History of Magic lessons she’d had on the executions of innocent witches and wizards, and shuddered. “So do you think that’s why she refuses to read the book?” she asked.  
Father nodded. “I’m sure of it, honey. Best to just leave old Ruth be when it comes to matters of God.”  
From there on out the family agreed to discuss the book only when Ruth wasn’t around.

 

*

August came, and nearly two months after meeting with the missionaries, each member of the Peabody family had completed The Book of Mormon. During the course of her study, Rose had noticed a profound change taking place regarding her spirituality — she no longer felt afraid of death and losing her family, and curiously, the question to God’s existence seemed almost laughable, for the answer was so obvious. Mother admitted a slight change of heart, and though he would never say so out loud, Rose could tell that the book had affected Father as well. Was Mormonism true, then? Rose couldn’t say for sure. She often went back to the tenth chapter of Moroni, verse four, which read _“And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.”_ Unfortunately, as sincerely as she prayed, as deeply as she studied, no clear answer came from this supposed Holy Ghost — not one that she couldn’t be sure was just her own line of thought, anyway. She’d asked Mother and Father, and they’d admitted that no solid conviction had come over them either.   
“Part of me thinks it could be true,” Mother said to her one day as she cleaned the dishes, “and the other, perhaps more logical part reminds me of the absurdity of it all.”  
“What about Jesus?” Rose asked. “Do you believe he really…?”  
“That I really don’t know. Wizarding scholars have debated it for the past eighteen hundred years; some truly do believe that he was sent of God, but most are of the opinion that he was merely a rogue wizard with a flair for dazzling Muggles and stirring up trouble among the authorities.”  
“If you had to say,” Rose said, “do you think the book is true, or don’t you?”  
Mother slowly lowered her wand, and the stack of plates she had been levitating into an opened cupboard softly hit the ground. She didn’t meet Rose’s eyes, but it was apparent she was feeling the effects of being asked a question that was, for all intents and purposes, unanswerable. Her brow creased in wonder, and her lips pursed slightly. Looking up from the plates that had fallen to the ground, she turned to face her daughter and said quietly, “I do believe that book was inspired by God, Rose. And your father agrees.”  
“He does? What did he tell you about it?”  
“Not a lot,” Mother responded, bending over to retrieve the plates. “Your Father and I don’t often have deep, meaningful discussions about faith. I suppose it’s always been a matter of little importance — until now. Last night he told me he thought the book was true, and I told him I felt the same. We left it at that.”  
“I believe in it, too,” Rose said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know why…it’s just this feeling I have. I haven’t experienced anything like it before.”  
Mother nodded to show that she understood. “Yes, child, I know very well what you mean.”  
It seemed to Rose that she pondered more over religion and God the next several days than she had in her entire life. So many different questions ran through her mind: Was Joseph Smith truly a prophet, and did the Father and the Son really appear to him in the woods? Did he really translate The Book of Mormon from golden plates, or did he make it all up? Does God actually exist? Is there hope for salvation, even for witches and wizards? Every time she thought she’d worked out an answer she began to second guess herself — how could she be sure it wasn’t cognitive bias, or worse yet, Satan trying to lead her astray? She wasn’t even sure such an entity existed, yet here she was worried that he might be influencing her!  
Was there, in fact, a God in heaven? She couldn’t recall a question she’d ever wanted answered so badly as that one. Mother and Father assured her that forging your own belief system about the world was an important part of growing up, and that they were proud she was seeking out answers at such a young age. Still, this was of little comfort to her — she didn’t think they understood just how deeply she wished to know. Ever since that discussion with the missionaries back in June, thoughts of God and faith had all but consumed her. Gone were the days of worrying about Quidditch, and whether Leonard Tayte was finally going to buck up the courage to talk to her this year.  
Although they rarely spoke openly about it, Rose could tell that her parents wondered seriously about The Book of Mormon too. This wasn’t like most books they’d read. With most books, even very good ones, they might be enthusiastic about them for a few hours — a few days at best — but would then move on to the next thing. Aside from their wonder about the historical and scientific relevance of the book, they began to incorporate faith into the family’s daily activities. For instance, both Maxwell and Rose were encouraged to say bedtime prayers, while Mother or Father came into Fanny’s room to help her say hers. Hardly a day went by that Rose didn’t either read The Bible or The Book of Mormon individually, or with her family.   
Perhaps it had nothing to do with their newfound faith, but Rose began to notice a change in the demeanor of the family. Fanny and Maxwell, who used to frequently bicker, now got along pleasantly. Everyone seemed more willing to help each other out, and there was less arguing over chores.   
One evening after supper, Father called the family back into the dining room. “Lucille…Rose…Maxwell…Fanny…Can you gather around in here? I think there’s something we need to discuss.”


	3. Chapter 3

Father and Mother sat at the far end of the table. The children sat opposite them, looking confusedly at their parents, wondering what this could all be about.   
“It seems we are all in agreement,” Father began, once everybody had settled in, “that the gospel brought to us by those two young gentleman earlier this summer is the true word of God. Would that be correct?”  
A few nods and mumbled “yes sir’s” came from the children, and Mother replied, “It is, Timothy.”  
“I think, then,” he continued, “that we all ought to be baptized together. What say you?”  
Broad grins spread across the children’s faces and they nodded enthusiastically. Rose, in particular, felt her heart leap with excitement.   
“All except Fanny, I’m afraid,” Father said as Fanny’s lower lip began to quiver. He reached across the table and touched her hand. “I’m sorry, honey, but only those aged eight and up are allowed to join this church.”  
“Hey, at least on the bright side, you only have to wait two years!” Maxwell pointed out, and Fanny gave a small smile.   
“I decided to walk home from work yesterday, and ran into Elder Sage and Elder Harris,” Father said. “I told them we’d all read the book, earnestly prayed about it, and concluded their religion to be of God. Naturally, they were quite happy for us, and asked whether or not we’d like to be baptized into the church officially. Now I prose the question to you, my wife and children: would such a decision be in the best interest of our family at this time, in your minds?”  
“Yes, I believe it would,” Rose responded. “I wish to be with you all forever.”  
Mother offered her a smile and Father nodded. “Right, then,” he said. “Of course. Maxwell?”  
“I agree, Father,” Maxwell said. “I’ve read The Book of Mormon every day since the missionaries came, and I think it’s the true, restored gospel.”  
“Counted. And you, Lucy?”  
Mother looked lovingly up at him. “Oh, Tim, you know how I feel.”  
Father smiled. “That settles it! The Elders let me know where I could reach them — I’ll stop by their place tomorrow on my way home from work and make arrangements.”   
Rose went to bed that night feeling happier than she had in a long time. Still, her heart ached for Millie Bart — if only her family had the comforting knowledge the Peabodys had. She made up her mind to write her friend a letter the next day, telling her all about The Book of Mormon, God, and eternal families. It eased her mind to know that Mr. Bart would have the opportunity to learn about the gospel in the spirit world. 

*

Five days after the Peabodys were baptized in the River Lea, Father called the family together again for yet another meeting.   
The children had retired to their rooms for the evening when Mother came knocking at their doors.  
“Rose?” she said, rapping gently on Rose’s bedroom door. “Father and I would like to see you downstairs.”  
Rose followed her mother and siblings downstairs to the dining room where Father sat with The Book of Mormon open in front of him.  
“Children,” Mother said, taking a seat next to Father, “There’s something important we need to tell you.”  
“What?” Maxwell asked, looking anxious.  
“Timothy,” Mother said, turning to her husband, “why don’t you…?”  
Father nodded. “Yes. Well, we’ve had some big changes — good changes — in our family recently. I feel I’d be repeating myself one too many times by saying that the gospel has truly transformed our lives for the better in these past couple months. And, believe it or not, we’ll be blessed again in yet another major way come this fall.” He turned to look at Mother, whose face was glowing with a bright smile. She stood up and released the shawl around her robes to reveal a full stomach.  
“You’re going to have a baby?” Rose gasped, unable to contain her excitement.  
“Indeed,” Mother replied. “He — or she — is due in November.”  
“But that’s so soon! That would mean you’re —” she paused for a moment to count “—six months along! Why didn’t you tell us sooner? And how were you able to hide it for this long?”  
Mother laughed gently. “You’ll notice my wardrobe choices have been particularly heavy for the summer…As for why we didn’t tell you…well, with my being so ill and not making a full recovery until quite recently, we just weren’t sure if…”  
Rose understood.   
“Thankfully,” Mother continued, “I had an appointment at St. Mungo’s last week, and from what they can tell, the baby is developing normally.”   
“Oooh, Mother, I’m so happy!” Fanny squealed, bouncing up and down in her seat. Maxwell, on the other hand, looked less than pleased, though he managed to fabricate a smile and mutter, “That’s wonderful.”  
“Yes, it most certainly is,” Father agreed, beaming at Mother. “But that isn’t the main reason we called you in here tonight.”  
_What could possibly be bigger news than a baby?_ Rose thought.   
“As you may remember from our discussion with the missionaries last week, Saints from all over America and England are gathering in The Salt Lake Valley to establish Zion.”  
“The Salt Lake Valley?” Rose asked. “Where is that?”  
“Somewhere in the western United States,” Mother answered. “It hasn’t been settled for very long. The Mormons were all but driven out of their homes back east — they had no where else to go.”  
“Precisely,” Father added. “And I suppose I’ll get straight to the point: your Mother and I have been talking it over for weeks, and we would like to join the rest of the Saints there.”  
_“What?”_ Maxwell cried. Fanny’s mouth dropped open, and Rose felt like she had been hit very hard in the stomach.   
“Father,” Rose said, her voice trembling. “Do tell me you’re not serious.”  
Father nodded slowly. “I am, darling. God has sent each of us down here at this time for a specific reason: to build up his kingdom on the earth. I truly feel that the greatest way we, as a family, could help bring that about would be to join our brothers and sisters in in Zion — even if most of them are Muggles. Besides, what with the way things are going at the Ministry, if any time was a good time to move and start over fresh in a new place, it’s now.”  
“What do you mean, with the way things are going at the Ministry?” Rose asked, this piece of information a shock to her. As far as she’d known, Father’s career at the Ministry of Magic had always proved satisfying and fruitful — it paid the bills, anyway.   
“Well, to tell you the truth, it’s Madame Dupont,” Father answered with a sigh. “I’ve told you several times of her irrational hatred for the Muggle Prime Minister…well, the consequences have gotten out of hand, and I don’t think the mess is just going to blow over with her leaving office. On average, our Department is dealing with twenty cases per week, up significantly from the days of Milliphutt, or even dear old Orpington. Now the issue has gone beyond Britain — the International Confederation of Wizards is looking into it, pending, I would presume, a full-on cleansing of the Ministry. Of course, I’ve been with them for more than twenty years, and I don’t expect they’ll exactly be jumping at the chance to get rid of me. Still, I wouldn’t be surprised if they did decide to go ahead and replace everyone. See, with the corruption that Dupont has been letting seep into the system, I imagine they may just want to reorganize everything and start over with new faces and minds. ”  
Rose knew that the Minister for Magic had been the root provocation for a number of Muggle-baiting incidents, but she had no idea things had escalated to this point.   
“Will you lose your job, then?” Maxwell asked, frowning.  
“My job is certainly in jeopardy right now, yes, Max,” Father answered quietly.   
For a moment nobody spoke, but then Maxwell piped up again. “But we _can’t_ leave! I’m starting school next month. And Rose will be going back for her third year.”  
“You will have the opportunity to attend school in America, honey,” Mother assured him. “Ilvermorny, it’s called.”  
Maxwell said nothing more, but Rose could see the disappointment in his eyes as clearly as if the words were written in black ink across his face. Ever since he had been old enough to speak he had professed his enthusiasm to attend Hogwarts at age eleven, carrying on the tradition of the Peabody family, and wizarding Britain as a whole. Two years ago he had eagerly watched his older sister board the Hogwarts Express, begging his parents to let him on too. They soothingly promised the nearly-in-tears little boy that his turn would come soon, and a bright smile instantly replaced his pout. Thinking back to this moment, Rose felt even sorrier for her brother — _she_ had been privileged to spend at least two years at the legendary castle, experiencing the things she’d been told about by older relatives ever since she was a small child. If the family really did end up moving to America, Maxwell and Fanny would be deprived of that opportunity. Fanny was young enough to not be terribly crestfallen, but Maxwell, who had just had his eleventh birthday two months prior and had received his acceptance letter the next, was sure to be devastated, and it was already showing. Rose, not bearing to look at him, kept her eyes on her parents.   
“If we did move to the United States, do you think you would be able to find a job there?” Rose asked, keen to change the subject.   
Father nodded. “I’m sure of it. MACUSA is struggling to maintain itself — not many wizards over there, you know — and with the experience I’ve got, it shouldn’t be difficult for me to find a position in their government.”  
“But I like it _here!”_ Fanny protested in a raised voice that was out of character for her.   
“I know you do, sweetheart,” Mother said sympathetically. “But sometimes we need to make changes for the better. Although England has been our home our whole lives, and we’ve made many fond memories here, the time has come to move on.”  
“And you’re sure about this?” Rose asked sadly.  
“Yes,” Mother answered. “Your Father and I have spent several weeks in fervent prayer, and we both believe that it’s God’s plan for our family that we pack up and start a new lives for ourselves in the Salt Lake Valley.”  
As Rose studied the intensity in her parents’ eyes, it became clear to her that their minds were made up and it was no use arguing.   
“I would urge you children, as well, to approach God in prayer concerning this matter,” Father told them. “I believe he will soften your hearts, bring you comfort, and help you to understand that leaving England is the right thing to do.”  
“How long do you suppose it will take to get there?” Maxwell asked.   
“We will be taking a ship to New York City,” Mother said. “To cross the ocean will take approximately one month — maybe two, depending on conditions. From New York we will travel via train to the state of Iowa where we will gear up to begin our trek westward.”  
“Bloody hell,” Maxwell muttered under his breath.   
“Why do we have to use Muggle transportation?” Rose asked. “Wouldn’t it be much quicker to use magic once we’ve arrived on the American shore? And what do you mean by ‘our trek’? Will we be traveling from Iowa to Salt Lake on the train?”  
“We can’t Apparate from New York to Salt Lake, or even New York to Iowa — it’s too great of a distance,” Mother replied. “Flying, Flooing, or using a Portkey may not be out of the question — we’re not entirely sure yet. It all depends on the American laws. However, we most certainly will not be using magic to travel from Iowa to Salt Lake.”  
“Why?” Fanny asked.  
Mother and Father exchanged anxious looks, both of them looking as though they possessed a vital piece of information they’d rather not disclose to their children.  
“We might as well tell them, Lucy,” Father said to Mother. “Better they know now and prepare for it.”  
Mother’s face contorted into a faked, uncomfortable smile. “Children,” she began, “we will be journeying to Salt Lake in a fashion that is certainly, er — _unfamiliar_ to you. Have you heard the term ‘handcart’ before?”  
Fanny and Maxwell shook their heads no, but Rose vaguely recalled the term being mentioned by the missionaries while they were describing the Saints’ journey west.   
“It’s much like a small wagon, but is pulled by humans. We will be walking from Iowa to Salt Lake, pulling our belongings in handcarts.”  
_Walking that_ whole _way?_ Rose thought. While she was no expert in American geography, she did know that the country was much larger than England, and the distance between the eastern part and the western part was easily hundreds, maybe thousands of kilometers.   
“Why?” she asked. “Why would we do that when we could easily use magic?”  
This time Father spoke. “Honey, the area we’ll be traveling through is nothing but vast wilderness for the most part. It is impossible to fly to a location you cannot pinpoint. And again, Apparition has its distance limits as well.”  
“What about a Portkey?” Rose suggested, beginning to panic. “Couldn’t we ask a wizard to set one for us so that we’ll come out in Salt Lake? Or perhaps we could use Floo powder.   
“I’m afraid not, Rose. A Portkey could not satisfy that distance, and I’ve already checked on the Floo powder — currently, America has no network connecting to anywhere remotely near Salt Lake.”  
But Rose was persistent. “Then we’ll do it by checkpoints! Say, somebody could place a Portkey in one spot, and we’d take it to another. We’d repeat this process as many times as necessary until we arrive at our destination. I’m sure that wouldn’t take so long, or, at least, not nearly as long as walking would. The same thing could be done with Apparition! You know it’s far from my preferred method of transportation, but I’m sure I could handle—”  
“Rose,” Mother interrupted, her voice firm but gentle. “as hard as it may be for you to understand, we have chosen this path for spiritual reasons as well. We believe there are lessons God has in store for us that can only be learned traveling with other Saints. These sorts of things build character like nothing else.”  
“But people _die,”_ Rose said, choking up. Tears welled in her eyes. “Don’t you remember what Elder Harris and Elder Sage told us? People freeze to death, starve, and get sick. What about you, Mother? How can you possibly think to do something like this when you’re with child?”  
She could no longer contain her sobs, and fell into Mother’s arms. Throughout the course of their discussion that evening it hadn’t occurred to her how ridiculously absurd the idea was until then. Mother and Father were insane to suggest that the family ought to take a month-long sea voyage to America, and from there travel a frightening distance on foot to a city they knew virtually nothing about. How could they be so _stupid?_ Did they really care more about the church, prophets, and temples than the safety of their own children?  
But these feelings evaporated as quickly as they’d come on, and a deep sense of shame came over Rose for thinking such horribly disrespectful thoughts about her parents. Perhaps even worse was the guilt at knowing what God was surely thinking of her at that moment. Was he angry? Disappointed? Without a doubt, she thought.   
“It won’t be like that for us,” Father told her, his calm, rational demeanor comforting. “Remember, we have something the rest of those dear souls don’t: magic. Your mother will walk when she can, but whenever she needs to rest, she of course will be placed into a cart. We won’t let her harm herself.”  
Feeling a bit better, Rose smiled gently. Maxwell and Fanny seemed perked up too.  
“When are we leaving?” Fanny asked.  
“In two weeks,” Mother answered. “We will use that time to make financial arrangements and say our goodbyes. Unfortunately we will have to leave most of our possessions behind — you may each bring three outfits and _one_ of your toys.”  
“Remember to pray on this, children,” Father said. “Pray for strength and pray for courage. Now, more than ever, we need to be brave. I know this news came to you abruptly, but I promise you we will be all right. We are fit and healthy — and praise be to God that we are. We wouldn’t be able to make the journey if it weren’t for our youthful vitality.”  
To compensate for the startling announcement, Mother had made a particularly rich batch of strawberry pudding afterward. Rose, however, still struggling upon learning that she would soon be packing up to venture out into the great unknown, excused herself to her room without dessert. As she exited the dining room she caught sight of a small, white-clad figure in the darkened hallway outside the room. She turned a lamp on and saw it was Ruth. The old woman’s face was soaked with tears, looking sadder than she had been since the death of her husband. It took only half a second for Rose to realize that she’d heard their entire conversation, including Father’s closing remarks.


	4. Chapter 4

It took Rose three days to bring herself to face Ruth. Mother, taking pity on the devastated elderly witch, had been delivering meals to her room so she wouldn’t have to leave it.  
“Timothy, are you sure…?” Rose overheard Mother saying one morning as she and her siblings came downstairs for breakfast.   
“I’m sorry, Lucy, but it’s out of the question,” Father muttered. “She would die, it’s as simple as that. Even if we were somehow able to manage pulling two people in the handcart, her age would make her particularly susceptible to the elements. Besides all of that, take a look at the toll her depression over Archie’s death has taken on her health…”  
Rose, feeling sick with guilt, momentarily debated whether or not to enter the kitchen or retreat back to her bedroom for a good cry. Ruth surely hated her now, and Rose didn’t blame her a bit. It wasn’t just that her promise about leaving had been broken — it was made worse by the fact that the move was primarily due to something Ruth despised: religion.  
When she’d asked Father where Ruth would go, he admitted he wasn’t sure. He’d sent an owl to his brother in Cornwall explaining the situation and hinting at the request to take Ruth in. They were still waiting for a reply.  
It was a sordid, somewhat cruel consolation to Rose to know that her parents were nearly as torn up with guilt as she was. It served as a further testament to their devotion to their new faith that they were willing to make a journey without Ruth. “But don’t worry,” Father had assured her. “Whoever she ends up staying with, we’ll make sure she’s left in good hands.”  
Rose had done as her parents asked and prayed for guidance, and though she’d begun to feel spiritual confirmation that moving to America was the right thing for the family to do, leaving Ruth behind weighed heavily on her conscience. She’d even gone to God asking if they _should_ bring Ruth along for the trip, but felt no impression toward the affirmative. It soon became clear that God had unique plans for both Ruth and the Peabody family, and that they involved going their separate ways.   
“You go on,” Rose told her siblings. “Tell Mother and Father I’ll be along in a few minutes.”  
The younger Peabody children continued down into the kitchen, leaving Rose standing on the staircase. She hesitated for a moment before making up her mind to go see Ruth. She knew she would have to apologize eventually, and figured it was best to get it over with as soon as possible.  
Trembling, she ascended to the top floor and made her way to the bedroom at the far east end of the hallway. Taking a deep breath, she knocked and said, “It’s Rose. May I come in?”  
For a moment there was no answer. Finally, a croaky voice responded, “Come in, dear.”  
Fearing at the state she would find the old woman in, Rose slowly opened the door. Ruth was sitting in her usual rocking chair, gazing out the window. She held a pink handkerchief which she was dabbing her swollen eyes with.   
Rose carefully approached her, and not even knowing where to begin, immediately burst into apology. “Ruth, I’m _terribly_ sorry about this. Truly, I am. If the choice were mine, we wouldn’t be —” But she cut herself off, realizing that to finish the sentence would be to speak a lie — she knew, deep down, that God needed her family in Salt Lake, even if she didn’t want to go. “I’m…I’m really sorry,” she continued. “So many unforeseeable things come up that we just can’t anticipate, you understand.”  
“Perhaps for you,” Ruth said. “But rarely for me.”  
Rose kicked herself for being so stupid. How could she have forgotten? “Of course, ma’am. So I guess it turns out you…you were right when you saw us leaving.”  
Ruth nodded slowly. “Yes, child. I knew all along this was going to happen. I suppose I’ve been living in denial — hoping, foolishly, that something would come up to thwart fate. But when I overheard your conversation the other night…it became clear that the inevitable had finally come to pass.”  
“Oh, Ruth. I can’t tell you how badly I feel about this whole thing.”  
“Don’t, dear. It was good of your family to take me in for as long as you have, but there comes a time when we all need to do what’s best for ourselves.”  
Rose bit her lip anxiously. “I don’t know if Father’s told you, but he’s sent a letter to his brother. He thinks he might just be willing to let you stay with him. Their family is very nice, I know you’d like them — Frank, my uncle, works with goblins; his wife Nora is a Healer at St. Mungo’s, and they have two darling little children.”  
“I’m sure they’re a nice family,” Ruth said, folding her handkerchief in half.   
An awkward silence followed. Rose had apologized, and Ruth seemed to have accepted it — what else needed to be said? Somehow, Rose felt she couldn’t just leave it at that, but was unable to find the proper words to express her feelings.   
“I think you ought to go now, Rose,” Ruth said, staring lazily out the window.  
Taken aback at her blunt request, Rose obliged, apologizing once more as she exited the room. 

 

*

Two days later an owl arrived from Frank and Nora — they had agreed to take Ruth in, seeming more than happy to do so.   
Mother sent a letter to Hogwarts, informing the Headmaster that her children would no longer be attending the school; Father sent in his resignation papers to the Ministry. He also made arrangements for the family to board the next ship to New York.   
Every time Rose entered the house, and especially the different rooms of the house, she felt a twinge of sadness. This was where she had lived since infancy — where she had taken her first steps, spoken her first words, and learned to read and write. In only a matter of days she would be leaving it behind forever.   
The Sunday before the Wednesday of their scheduled departure, the Peabodys held a dinner social at their home. Nearly forty friends and family members gathered to say their goodbyes. Rose fought back tears as she hugged her grandparents, aunts and uncles, and cousins for what she knew might be the last time, or at least, the last time for a good long while. The idea of not seeing her extended family until she was a grown woman with a family of her own frightened her, and she cried herself to sleep that night.   
The next morning she helped her parents pack a few last minute items. True to their word, Mother and Father had only allowed the children to take a limited amount of clothing, and one toy. The rest would have to be sold along with the house — it certainly wouldn’t be possible for them to haul everything they owned across the prairie, they’d explained, even with the help of magic. For her “toy”, Rose had chosen her favorite book: _The Hippogriff and the Warlock,_ a seventeenth century Scottish novel. Maxwell chose his prized broomstick, and Fanny chose her china doll, its hair in shoulder length, strawberry blond ringlets, just like her own. Aside from clothes, toys, and wands, they packed the remainder of the dragon meat.   
Father had planned to take Ruth to his brother’s that day, and when Mother had taken her breakfast up to her room and she didn’t answer the door, she became worried.   
“She never sleeps this late,” Mother told Rose, who had been passing by. “I think I should go in anyway and check on her.”  
Rose and nodded. “I think you’d better,”  
Mother fetched her wand from her robes, pointed it at the doorknob, and whispered, _“Alohomora.”_ A clicking sound came from the knob, and it opened with ease.   
Ruth’s bed curtains were shut, indicating that she must still be sleeping.   
“Ruth, dear,” Mother called gently. “We just wanted to remind you that Timothy is taking you to his brother’s house today. They’re expecting you at noon.”  
No response came.   
Mother cleared her throat and spoke again. “So…perhaps it would be best to start gathering your things together.”  
Silence followed. Ruth was a light sleeper — there was no way she could still be asleep this late, especially after Mother had come in and spoken to her. Maybe, she thought, Ruth wasn’t in the bed at all. Maybe she had up and left during the night. She’d been so upset, Rose wouldn’t have put it past her.  
Mother slowly walked forward and drew back the curtains. Strangely, Ruth was still sleeping. Mother shook her gently and said, “Ruth, wake up, dear.” The old woman did not stir, and Rose’s heart sunk.  
“Ruth,” Mother repeated, her voice sounding panicked.  
Rose bolted from the room, tears welling up in her eyes. She didn’t need to stay any longer to realize that Ruth was dead.

 

*

A funeral and burial were arranged the day before the family left. As Ruth had no living relations, only the Peabodys, and a group of five friends she had known from school, were in attendance.   
_We killed her,_ Rose thought as they left the service. _First, her husband, and then our moving…She just couldn’t take any more._   
“Is it possible to die of a broken heart?” she asked Mother once they arrived back at the house.   
“Perhaps in a figurative sense,” Mother replied sadly. “But honey, Ruth was quite old, even by wizarding standards. It was a peculiar coincidence that she passed so shortly before our departure, but in a way, I have to wonder if it was for the best — she is finally at peace.”  
Though Rose silently agreed, she still wasn’t convinced that a person couldn’t die from a broken heart, and felt, in fact, that she might soon meet the same end.


	5. Chapter 5

It pained Rose to admit it to herself, but the strong faith she had initially acquired after first reading The Book of Mormon had faltered significantly in the past several days. She began to have second doubts about leaving England, wondering how the recent tragedy could have possibly been part of God’s plan.   
_If you hadn’t prompted us to go, this wouldn’t have happened,_ she thought bitterly.   
Then again, who was to say the promptings really had been from God? Maybe they had been, as Rose had suspected in the beginning, a product of their own wishful thinking. Who really knew? Logic, Rose reasoned, should trump feelings; feelings couldn’t always be trusted, but rational thought could be.   
_Ruth was right about something else: religion is nothing more than a bunch of hooey for weak-minded, ignorant Muggles — a system of ideologies that have benefited wizardkind in no way, but have certainly harmed us over the centuries._  
She wished she could get her family to see reason, but rest of them insisted on proceeding with the move. As far as Rose could tell, _their_ faith hadn’t been at all shaken by Ruth’s death. She felt guilty and nonchalant at the same time in a paradoxical sort of way. On the one hand, she believed that her crisis of faith might just be a test from God; on the other, she felt no shame in spurning him — the imaginary old man in the sky that had somehow managed to pervert her family’s sanity in the most absurd way imaginable.

*

“I’ll be out in a moment — you go on.”  
Rose instructed her family to wait outside while she packed a few last minute goodies, but really, she wanted to go upstairs to Ruth’s room one last time.  
Everything was packed and ready to go. Their ship was due out in less than fifty minutes, and Father wanted to get an early start to the port. Though for weeks Rose had known this day was coming, the full weight of leaving England had not yet sunk in.  
She slowly made her way up the wooden staircase, realizing that she was doing so for the final time. Tears stung her eyes as she arrived on the all too familiar landing that held her, her siblings, and Ruth’s bedrooms. Not fully knowing why she felt the need to do it, she stepped into the late Seer’s room.   
The suitcase packed with clothing that Ruth had planned to take to Frank’s house sat next to her dresser; her trusty rocking chair remained in its usual spot behind the window that overlooked the busy, cobbled street below. Rose’s eyes traveled to the bed, over which the beautiful patchwork quilt still draped. She ran her fingers over its exquisite design, dearly wishing that she could bring it along with them — but no, Mother and Father wouldn’t allow it; only items of absolute necessity were to make the trip.   
_It’s too pretty to part with,_ she thought, a wistful sort of pain gripping her chest.  
Sighing, she folded up the quilt, deciding to store it away in the closet. Beneath it lay a small book with a worn, brown cover. Rose picked it up. There was no title or wording on the front or back cover, but it became clear to her as soon as she opened it that it was a journal.   
_I shouldn’t be looking at this,_ she thought, but her curiosity got the better of her.  
Page one was dated June twenty-eighth, seventeen sixty-two. Written in sloppy black ink, it read simply _“I received my Hogwarts acceptance letter today. Naturally, Mother and Father are thrilled, and so am I. I wonder where I will be sorted. Ruth.”_  
Intrigued, Rose read on. The next several entries detailed Ruth’s first year at Hogwarts, including a classmate who had contracted spattergroit in Potions class, and an exotic thunderbird that had gotten loose in the castle.  
She continued flipping through the pages, stopping every so often to read one. The February third, seventeen eighty-five entry was about her marriage to Archibald, and one from December eighteen-twelve described a dream she’d had the night before concerning her neighbor’s flobberworm farm — apparently the flobberworms were soon to mutate into an extremely large, dangerous beast, and Ruth advised her acquaintance to dispose of them immediately. According to the January tenth, eighteen-thirteen entry, this actually had come to pass, though the neighbor had failed to heed her warning and ended up in St. Mungo’s with two severed limbs. No word on how the flobberworms had become dangerous, however.  
Around eighteen-forty Ruth’s prophecies started to become more grave, among them her dear friend dying in a carriage accident, and the Irish potato famine. Finally, Rose found the page where she’d written of her fears of the impending death of her husband.  
Realizing that she’d been in the room for nearly ten minutes and her parents would surely be back in the house looking for her at any moment, she turned to the very last page in the book — the page dated on the day Ruth had died.  
What Rose found on this page was an entry unlike any other she’d seen in the journal, written in the form of a poem. It read:

 

 

_Shattered ring, broken heart_  
A world torn apart;  
Empty meadows grace their sights  
Not the least a firm foundation.  
The noble one is called to see  
What the blind man cannot.  
See, therefore, what dolor awaits:  
A ruptured seed will be  
The climax of their sorrows;  
And this preceded by   
A host of other horrors.  
But what, oh what  
Is there for me to do?  
Besides send my warning —  
My journey here is through.  
Perhaps it is best  
That such should come to pass  
For everybody knows:  
That wisdom is gained  
Through the pursuit of it. 

 

“Rose?” Mother called from downstairs. “We need to leave now. Where have you been off to?”  
Dumbstruck at what she’d just read, Rose deliberated for a moment before shoving the journal into an empty drawer and running to join her family outside.


	6. Part 2 (October 5, 1857)

Rose inhaled a deep breath of the fresh, fall air, savoring in the cool crispness that filled her lungs. She thought it odd to think that only a month and a half ago she had taken this luxury for granted, but seven weeks aboard a tightly-cramped ship did have a way of changing one’s perspective.   
Three dozen other souls — all of them Muggles — had made the journey to America along with the Peabodys. Food was limited and privacy scarce, but the entire family had made crossing in safety and health, and that, Rose supposed, was the most important thing, though she couldn’t remember being so miserable in her life. Boredom led to frequent irritability among the younger children, particularly Fanny, whom Mother and Father watched like hawks to prevent a magical blow up; a boy from one of the other families, about Maxwell’s age, teased Rose nonstop; Mother became mildly ill again a week into the journey, and the fact that they weren’t able to do magic on the ship made things even more uncomfortable for her.   
Rose had her fourteenth birthday three days before landing. Long after the Muggles had all gone to sleep that night, Mother gathered together a few ingredients, including what little sugar they had, and snuck off to a deserted compartment. There she used a heating charm — the only time she had pulled out her wand the entire voyage — to bake a cake. That night, as the family huddled together in the tiny cabin to eat cake and celebrate her birthday, it occurred to Rose that this might be the last time she would be enjoying chocolate cake — or any other sweet — for a long time. Mother and Father had been advised by the missionaries to pack as little food as one could possibly survive on, and needless to say, delicacies were not on the list. The food they had managed to bring along, Father said, would be enough to last them about half the trip, but for the other half they would be dependent on whatever vegetation and wild game they could find. “In the event of the worst case scenario,” he’d said, “we’ve got the dragon meat.”  
Rose hauled her personal luggage down the ramp and onto the dock, wholly relieved to be off that damned ship. The rest of the family followed behind her, looking equally as glad to have finally arrived at their destination.  
“Well, children,” Father said, beaming at the rush of people surrounding them, “welcome to America!”

 

*

Much to Rose’s disappointment there was no time to look around New York. Immediately after landing Father had sent an express owl to a nearby wizarding inn, making a reservation for that night. He’d also summoned a crew from the inn to take their luggage on ahead. Tomorrow they would get up bright and early to board a train to Iowa.   
“Where is the inn?” Maxwell had asked him.  
“Prompixa,” Mother answered.  
_“Where?”_ the children inquired in unison.  
“Oh, you’ll see,” she replied with a smile.  
They walked for what seemed like hours, snaking their way through busy streets and run-down neighborhoods. The size of the city would have been shocking to Rose if she hadn’t grown up in a city of comparable enormity.  
Finally they came to the door of a small antique shop.  
“What are we doing here?” Maxwell asked as a group of people walked inside, but Mother shook her head to hush him.   
Father scanned the area, anxiously darting his head left to right in observation of the people that dotted the street. He leaned his head close to the children and muttered under his breath, “When I say go, I want you children to follow us into that little space in between those buildings.” He nodded in the direction of a small walk space between the antique shop and the building next to it. “But don’t hesitate, now — the second I give you the word, you _must_ run.”  
Rose and her siblings silently agreed. As soon as it became clear that nobody was watching them, Father hissed, _“Now!”_  
The children ran right through with ease, but Father struggled, and Mother, who was now into her third trimester, inched along at a pace that had Rose worried. The space was so narrow they had to move sideways.   
“What if someone sees us?” she asked as she helped Father and Maxwell pull Mother through. “What will happen?”  
“It isn’t so much this part that’s got me worried,” Father replied, breathing heavily. “It’s going _down_ that’s got to be done with the upmost furtiveness.”  
Puzzled, Rose helped the others bring Mother out of the crack. It led them into a small, enclosed alley; the far sides of the backs of both buildings were conjoined with a wall that encompassed the opening. Neither of the shops had a back door, window, or anything else that would enable those inside to see back there. Rose estimated that from their side of the crack to the other was about six meters.   
As soon as he was sure Mother was all right, Father walked over to the left corner of the wall, against which was a large pile of hay. He moved it around with his foot, as if he was digging for something. Finally he got down on his knees and started moving the hay with his hands. Mother stood guard at the crack, frequently turning her head to make sure that nobody watching them through the thin line.   
“Got it,” Father said, beckoning to the others.   
_Got what?_ Rose wondered, but as soon as she walked over to Father, her question was answered. He was holding the lock to what looked like a trapdoor; it had been hidden beneath the hay.  
Father pointed his wand at the lock and muttered a spell Rose did not recognize. He then threw the lock off the door and opened it, taking a look behind him.  
“Now this is where we’ve got to be _really_ careful,” he cautioned. “If a Muggle sees what we’re about to do…” He broke off, shaking his head. “Mother will go first, taking Fanny, and Rose and Maxwell will follow them. I’ll go last, shutting the door behind me while attempting to cover it back up as best as possible. Looks like the last person to come through here did a proper job.”  
“Hold on,” Maxwell said, sounding both anxious and excited. “You haven’t told us what’s down there. Why are we doing this?”  
“The inn, we’re going to the inn,” Father answered impatiently. “But we mustn’t dawdle — the time for questions is not now.” He threw another worried glance over his shoulder.   
Mother lit her wand, grabbed Fanny’s hand, and hurriedly took her first step down the trapdoor. Maxwell went after them, and Rose followed, stepping on to the first stair of what appeared to be a very steep, winding staircase that descended far into the darkness. There were no handholds, so she kept tight against the wall to avoid falling. Father came after her, locking and slamming the door shut behind him.   
_“Lumos,”_ he said, and a bright beam of light protruded from the tip of his wand. “Just keep going; it’s quite a ways down here, but as long as we’ve got light we’ll be fine.”  
It was all Rose could do to avoid panicking. The cylindrical stairwell was so narrow she thought she might have a claustrophobic attack. One wrong step and she knew she could easily tumble all the way down to her death in the abyss — wherever in the world it led to.   
She couldn’t remember ever walking down so many stairs in her life. After about ten minutes Father said, “I don’t think it’s much further”, to which everybody breathed a sigh of relief.   
They finally arrived on a landing that led into a hallway. At the end of it was a wooden door with a rope latch attached to the middle. Father gave it a tug, and a hand-sized white cube fell from a hole above the door.   
“Hmm,” he said, picking it up. “Let’s see if I can remember…”  
The cube was embellished with jeweled numbers, ranging from one to six. His brow furrowed, Father firmly pressed his finger down on the side with the “2” on it. The “2” immediately lit up with a blue glow.  
“Wow!” Fanny exclaimed. “What is that, Father?”  
“It’s their password system,” Father replied, pressing down on three other numbers, and each one lighting up in turn.   
“Who is ‘they’?” Rose asked.  
“The witches and wizards who live down here. Very private community, you know — they don’t let just anybody waltz right in. You need special permission to enter.”  
A million questions raced through Rose’s mind, but she found herself unable to speak as she watched Father continue to press numbers on the cube. Finally, the whole thing lit up in the blue light, and Father raised it to the hole. After a few seconds the cube was swept out of his hands and back into the hole.  
“We should be able to get in now,” Father said. He pulled the latch once more, and the door opened.  
Rose thought they had somehow made their way back up into the city; the afternoon sky canopied a cobbled street lined with shops on either side. However, as she took a closer look, she realized that the shops advertised magical goods ( _Miss Avery’s Cauldrons,_ for one), and what was more, the people here were dressed in wizarding garb. It was as if New York City had its own Diagon Alley.  
“Where are we?” Fanny asked, gaping at the shops surrounding her.  
“Prompixa,” Father answered. “Founded in seventeen-oh-five by Lars Visser, a Dutch wizarding immigrant. After the tragedy in Salem, magical folk here in America were forced to go even further — _underground,_ if you will,” he punned with a small smile, and it suddenly struck Rose that they _were_ still underground. “Wizards of New York, in particular, felt the effects of the ever-growing threat to their safety and way of life. There were so many of them here, you see. Anyway, rather than spreading out to neighboring colonies, a bloke by the name of Visser suggested the possibility that they may not have to leave the city, instead finding a way to better hide themselves therein. Eventually, after a lot of reckoning, it was decided that they would attempt to build their own underground village, and here you have it.”  
“But if we’re underground, how can we see the sky?” Maxwell asked, gazing upward.   
“It’s just an enchantment, dear,” Mother explained.   
“So this is a village?” Rose asked in awe. “People actually live down here?”   
“Indeed,” Father replied. “This part is just the shopping center, but further on down you’ll see the flats.”  
“Wait,” Maxwell said excitedly, “so how many people…?”  
“If I remember correctly, Prompixa has a population of around a hundred souls — more than half the wizards in New York City live down here.”  
“That is _amazing!”_ Max exclaimed.   
Scores of witches and wizards scurried from shop to shop, gabbing cheerfully as they walked. From the snippets of conversations Rose could hear — (“Of course, now is the _best_ time to stock up on doxy eggs. Remind me to stop at Emery’s on the way out, won’t you, Agnes?”) — it seemed that there were big sales going on in a number of different shops.  
Interestingly, Rose found, wizards in America didn’t have a distinct fashion sense from wizards back in England, nor did their shops look terribly different from those of Diagon Alley. Though she couldn’t quite be sure what she was expecting, it certainly wasn’t this.  
Finally, at the end of a long line of shops, Father stopped them in front of a larger building with a sign on the front that read: "Spotted Owl Bed  & Breakfast."  
“This is it,” he said, and he and Mother ushered the children inside.   
The inn was brightly lit; witches and wizards lounged on red sofas in the main lobby, some twiddling with their wands. Baby blue carpet furnished the floor, and perched on a small shelf above the front desk was a stuffed brown owl with little white spots on its feathers. It’s amber eyes seemed to look straight into Rose’s blue ones, and she quickly looked away.   
“We have a reservation for tonight,” Father said, approaching the stern-looking old witch at the desk. “Name’s Peabody.”  
The witch opened a large book to her side and scanned through a long list with her finger.   
“Ah, yes,” she said. “Timothy Peabody. Reservation for five. Check in time three o’clock today, check out time six o’clock tomorrow morning. That will be fifteen Galleons, plus the delivery fee of four Galleons.”  
Father reached into his robes and pulled out nineteen Galleon coins, placing them neatly on the desk. The witch counted them and put them into a drawer beneath her.  
“Here’s the key to your room, Mr. Peabody” she said, handing Father a small, golden key with a tag attached to it that read _11._ “You will be in room eleven. To get there, simply proceed through this door — ” she pointed to a door to her left — “and follow the stairs to the second floor. Your room will be the first on your right as you come up to the landing, and you’ll find your luggage there. You’ve got just a few minutes — feel free to take a seat.”  
“Thank you,” Father replied.   
As soon as three o’clock came, the family made their way up to their room. The young man who had met them at the dock and taken their luggage came out of the laundry room on the second floor, rag in hand. He wore a blood red robe, a blue cap, and a name tag that read “Jimmy.”  
As soon as he caught sight of the Peabodys he beamed. “Mr. Peabody! Make it down here okay? Didn’t have any trouble with the password I gave you, did ya?”  
“Nope!” Father answered. “Everything went well. Thank you again for your service.”  
“Oh, my pleasure, sir!” Jimmy piped up. “I’ll be working the second floor tonight; let me know if you guys need anything.”  
“We appreciate that,” Mother said gently.   
The Peabodys’ room was small, but elegant. Like in the lobby, the room had soft blue carpet; the two large beds were covered in blankets of cream-colored silk, and tapestries depicting forest sceneries adorned the walls. Their luggage sat next to the closet.   
Exhausted, Rose collapsed on to one of the beds, grateful to finally be sleeping somewhere other than that uncomfortable ship.   
“They serve dinner at six,” Father said, checking his pocket watch. “I tell you what: let’s unpack our clothes, rest for while, and look around the village. We’ve got more than enough time.”  
The family agreed, and after taking an hour to relax, set off to explore Prompixa.   
From outside Spotted Owl, Rose was able to get a good vantage point of the village: if you were to turn right, you’d head back down the shopping lane and eventually come to the door they’d arrived through. To the left was a darker, less bustling street lined with stacks of flats, which Rose assumed served as the homes of the people that lived here.   
“Can we go look down there?” she asked Mother and Father, nodding in the direction of the flats.  
“If you’d like,” Father responded.   
They set off down the cobbled street lined with houses. This section of Prompixa was covered by the same enchanted sky that looked over the shops — now it had begun to cloud up, and Rose wondered if artificial rain was possible. Grass hugged the sides of the road, providing a nice, albeit small lawn for the long rows of houses. Outside one, a boy and a girl, neither of which could have been older than five, tugged for possession of a toy dragon (“You’ve had it all day, Wilfred. My turn!”); outside another, a plump wizard with a gray mustache sat in a rocking chair on his porch, reading a newspaper entitled _The New York Wizard Weekly._ Further along, a group of people sat around a picnic table; three boys performed aerial tricks above them on their broomsticks, and the crowd applauded whenever they did something especially neat.   
Rose found herself wishing that they could stay here — why bother traveling west when you could settle in a nice, secret little community like this one? Why go live around _Muggles_ when you could take up in a town comprised entirely of your own kind? A town where you didn’t have to hide your abilities, but could practice them in the open without fear?   
Yes, she wished they could stay, but she daren’t ask it. She could only imagine the reaction of Mother and Father, after they’d traveled all this way with the intention of making it to Zion, if she were to even suggest such a thing. God wanted them in Salt Lake, and that was that.  
They arrived back at the inn with plenty of time to spare until dinner. Rose and Maxwell played a few games of Exploding Snap with a stack of cards found in the dresser between the beds; Mother and Father poured over a map, discussing the route they would take to the train station the next day; Fanny chatted happily to her doll, pretending to give her sips of tea.   
At six o’clock they proceeded down to the dining room for supper. Eight witches and wizards were already sitting around the long table, which reminded Rose very much of the tables in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. The Peabodys sat down next to a scruffy-looking old wizard wearing a black sailor’s hat. A few minutes later another wizard joined him, and they clapped each other on the back.   
After all the seats filled up several house elves emerged from the kitchen, carrying trays of steaming food: roasted chicken, cooked carrots, squash, rolls, and potatoes. The elves dished a sizable portion of each onto every plate, frequently asking their guests if they wanted more. Once everybody was comfortably eating, they returned to the kitchen.   
“Rob Gyne,” the wizard with the sailor hat said to Father, extending his hand to him. “Up from Dallas, visitin’ my daughter — works for MACUSA, you know. Where ‘bouts you from?”  
Father shook his hand. “Timothy Peabody. This is my wife Lucille, and our children, Rose, Maxwell, and Fanny. We just arrived from England; we’re joining up with a group of handcarters in Iowa and setting off for the Salt Lake Valley.”  
Rob’s eyes nearly doubled in size. “Well I’ll be damned…” he muttered, and shook his head, as if coming out of a daze. “Hello, ma’am. Kids.” He tipped his hat to the family.   
“How do you do,” they murmured, smiling.   
Rob took a bite of potato and jerked his thumb to the young wizard who had sat down next to him. “This is Bill.” The blond wizard called Bill gave a small wave. “Bill Schwartz. My future son-in-law.”  
“Oh, how nice!” Mother said. “Is your daughter marrying soon? Is that why you’re visiting?”  
“Yeaahhh,” Rob nodded, a proud beam spreading across his face. “Gotta support the kids, y’know? After the wife passed the responsibility’s been on me.”  
Father frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. Has she been gone long?”  
“Twelve years,” Rob replied, taking a swig of whiskey.   
“So, what made you decide to join the church?” Bill asked. “The Mormon church, I mean. I presume you…”  
“Oh, yes,” Mother said. “Yes, we’re all members. We met a pair of fine missionaries over the summer, they gave us a copy of their holy book, and…well, we decided it was something we truly believed in.”  
“How nice,” Bill said, not taking his eyes off his dinner plate.  
Rob snorted. “Y’know — y’know that Jo Smith? Got himself into a real mess o’ trouble down in Missouri back in the thirties. Residents weren’ taking too kindly to his followers eatin’ up their land, see. Homes were burnt, people killed — real bad deal, I heard. Then he and his lot took up stake in Illinois, and…” Once again, he broke off without finishing his sentence.   
“And what, Mr. Gyne?” Mother asked, clearly taken aback at this information. Rose, too, was shocked to hear of the apparent trouble the founder of her religion had been in.   
Rob glanced at the children and shook his head. “Prob’ly best we don’t discuss it here.”  
“Say,” Bill interjected, “did you kids attend Hogwarts when you were living in England? I got family back there — two cousins and a brother. My brother’s kid just finished up his first year at the school. You wouldn’t happen to have known…”  
The topic of their conversation for the rest of supper consisted primarily of the differences between wizarding England and wizarding America, with the Peabodys and Rob and Bill sharing aspects of their respective cultures with one another. The U.S. wizards delighted the Peabody children with tales of the North American wizarding school, Ilvermorny; Father explained to them about his former job at the Ministry of Magic.   
Eventually, however, the church came up again  
“Say,” Rob said, narrowing his eyes at the family. “Y’all mentioned you were headin’ out west, right? With a group of Mormon no-maj’s?”  
“That is correct,” Mother responded.  
Rob sighed and shook his head. “To be frank, ma’am, I would seriously reconsider.”  
“Why?” Father asked.  
Rob stared at him for a moment, a haunted, dark look in his eyes. “Good Lord. Didn’t them missionaries tell ya?”  
“Well, they did inform us that it would be a rough journey,” Father admitted. “But we’re up for the challenge. We’ve got clothes, food — ”  
The old wizard shook his head fervently. “No, no, I’m afraid you don’t understand, sir. _You’ve no idea what you’re getting yourself into!”_  
The children nervously glanced at their parents.  
Father gave an uncomfortable chuckle. “Mr. Gyne, we’ve thought this over thoroughly, I can assure you. We want to make it to the Salt Lake Valley more than anything else in the world. Have you ever believed in something so strongly, you’d be willing to make just about any sacrifice necessary for it?”  
“You’ve been here a day…I’ve lived here m’whole life — I keep up with the no-maj news, I’ve spoken to people who’ve gone the same route you’re going. And what with starting as late in the year as you are, you don’t stand a chance. Believe me, you do not want to do this.”  
“Will the upmost respect, sir,” Mother began, “we appreciate your concern, but we’ve already made up our minds. And anyhow, we’d like our grandchildren to someday be born and raised among those of the faith, in the land of Zion.”  
Rob lowered his voice and said gravely, “Folks…if you go through with this, there’s a damn good chance you won’t be _havin’_ grandchildren.”  
Rose knew that Rob had not intended for her or siblings to hear what he just said, but she had. Faking oblivion, she handed her plate to a house elf, who was now handing out apple pie for dessert.   
Rob obviously knew something about the trip that the rest of them didn't —why did his voice sound so fearful when he was talking about it? Sure, it was a long, long way to walk, but a little walking never killed anybody. And they would be stopping for a number of breaks along the trail, wouldn’t they? They would have to stop during nights, at least.   
Rose took a small bite of her pie. It sweet and good, but she suddenly found she wasn’t hungry anymore, and pushed her plate away.


	7. Chapter 7

The family arose early the next morning as to make the nine o’clock train to Iowa City. They said quick goodbyes to Jimmy, Bill and Rob, and were immediately on their way.  
The witch at the front desk recommended they use the alternate exit, opposite the end of the village they’d come in through, as to not retrace their steps and risk attracting Muggle attention. As they headed for the door that would take them out of Prompixa and back to the main city, Rose looked back at the village one last time, desperately longing to stay. A lump rose in her throat as she watched the residents cheerfully going about their business and saying good morning to each other. Shopkeepers opened their shops, waving at people as they walked by. This — against all sound advice, they were leaving _this_ behind to venture out into the wilderness. Rose had been unable to sleep that night, frantically worried about Rob’s warning. It hadn’t really hit her until that moment that she and her family were potentially wandering into the clutches of death.   
They ascended a stairwell similar to the one they’d come in on. Once reaching the top, Father fiddled with the lock on the trapdoor ceiling, and it opened. He and Mother helped the children climb up onto the main ground, the natural sunlight hitting their faces like a beam. They found themselves in another deserted alley, hidden behind a tall brown building.   
_“Occultarus adintroitum!”_ Father said, his wand pointed at the trapdoor, and it slowly vanished before their eyes. Above where it had been, Rose noticed a painted image of a wizard’s hat on the wall, no bigger than a few centimeters — she supposed this marking was to let wizards know where the entrance was.   
Two hours later they were on the train headed west. Rose refused to eat anything the whole trip, for she felt sick with anxiety. Rob had warned them of the dangers of leaving so late in the year — would they survive the winter? The more she thought about it, the more worried she became, wondering whether she ought to bring up her concerns with Mother and Father. But no — she knew there was no turning back now.  
Reality sunk in even deeper as she watched the countryside fly by. She found herself wishing that she’d never gone to the lake on that bright, sunny day back in June.   
_If anything happens to my family, it will be my fault,_ she thought. _We wouldn’t be here on this train now if it weren’t for me._   
After what seemed like hours the train pulled into the station — a small building built of tan-colored bricks and a rust-red roof. People stood around it, eagerly awaiting the arrival of the train.   
Rose helped her family carry the luggage off the train and on to a stage coach that would take them to a nearby Mormon camp. There, Father told them, they would be outfitted with handcarts and begin the long journey to Salt Lake.   
The camp was teeming with people. Women sat outside wagons, stirring pots of stew and tending to their little children; men polished long rifles and brought large bundles out of their tents. Further on behind the camp, more wagons were pulling into view beyond the horizon.   
A short, bearded man wearing a checkered shirt and a wide grin walked forward from one of the tents and extended his hand to Father. “Hello there! You folks with the Bamblin company?”  
Father reached for the man’s hand and shook it. “We are. This is our camp, I presume?”  
“You betcha!”  
Father then introduced him to the family.   
“I’m Leland Scott, and that’s my wife Caroline.” He gestured to a woman sitting in a rocking chair outside one of the tents. She waved. “So…are you ready for this? Pretty worrying, eh? Suppose it will all be worth it when we get to the promised land, though.”  
“Right you are, Mr. Scott,” Father replied, braving a smile. 

 

*

Rose was awoken very early the next day to Mother gently shaking her arm and whispering, “It’s time to get up and go, honey. We’ve got a long journey ahead of us.”  
As soon as everybody in the camp had eaten breakfast they began to load their belongings into their handcarts — which had, by some means, appeared outside each tent overnight. Upon gathering everything into the family’s cart, however, Father looked at the children and frowned.  
“Children,” he said softly, “I’m afraid there isn’t…I wish we could, but…”  
“We’re only going to be able to take our food and extra clothing,” Mother finished, a look of disappointment on her face. “We thought we would have room for your toys, but it looks like our cart is already filled to the maximum weight load — we’re bursting at the seams as it is. I’m very sorry.”  
Rose’s heart sunk as she reached into the cart and pulled out her treasured copy of _The Hippogriff and the Warlock._ Maxwell stared at the ground for a moment, scuffing it with the toe of his boot, but eventually took his broomstick out of the cart as well. Fanny couldn’t reach, so Father got her doll out for her and handed it to her. Rose heard her mutter a silent “Goodbye” to it before handing it back over to Father.   
“What are you going to do with them?” Maxwell asked, his voice breaking slightly.  
Father sighed. “Just leave them here, I suppose. Not much else we can do.”  
Suddenly Mr. Scott walked quickly over to the Peabodys’ tent from his own.   
“Now, er…I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he said, “but I overheard you saying you had to get rid of some things. Our cart’s not full just yet — we might be able to pack in a few extra pounds.”  
Fanny’s face instantly lit up, and Rose saw Mr. Scott wink at her.   
“You are so kind,” Mother said, sighing with relief. “Praise God we’ll be making this journey together — I think having good friends will make all the difference.”  
“I agree, ma’am,” Mr. Scott said as he took the children’s toys. He rolled the broomstick over in his hand, staring at in in confusion. “Golly, son, you must really enjoy sweeping for your ma.”  
Maxwell shot a sly grin at parents and nodded. “Yes, sir. That old broom works magic, it does.”  
Mr. Scott chuckled. “I’ll be damned. Out of all the things a young’un could’ve picked…”  
Father handed him a small sack. “If it’s not too much of a burden to you, Mr. Scott, would you mind taking this as well? It’s a treasured heirloom of my wife’s. I’m afraid we don’t even have room for this.”  
“No burden at all!” Mr. Scott said.  
When Mr. Scott walked away Father turned to Mother and muttered, “The wands.”  
Before long they were on the trail. Rose estimated that in total, the Bamblin handcart company consisted of around four hundred people and fifty handcarts. The Peabodys followed near the back of the group, with Father and Mother pulling the cart, and Maxwell and Rose pushing. Fanny, not strong enough to help move the cart, merely walked alongside them.   
Pulling the handcart was no easy task, as Rose soon found out. While other families had six or seven people to a cart, the Peabodys only had four; once leaving the bounds of the city, they ventured off paved roads and onto rough, uneven terrain. At times Rose worried that the cart would tip over.  
Finally, well after noon, the group stopped for a lunch break. Exhausted, the Peabodys collapsed next to their cart and began to eat.  
“How much further do we have to go, Mother?” Fanny asked, taking a bite of bread. “Are we almost there?”  
Thinking it almost cruel to laugh, Rose managed to stifle her giggles.   
“Oh no, dear,” Mother responded, shaking her head. “No, I’m afraid we’ve only just begun.”  
“When will we get there, then?”  
Mother turned to look at Father.  
“I’m not exactly sure,” he said. “But it will be several months.”  
_Months of this?_ Rose thought, and remembered once again that they would be back in their cozy little English home right now if it weren’t for her. She wondered if Maxwell and Fanny hated her — how could she blame them if they did? Though he hadn’t brought it up since departing England, she knew that Maxwell was still devastated over not being able to attend Hogwarts.   
_He — we both! — could be there now. We could be learning a new spell in Charms class, watching a match of Quidditch, feasting in the Great Hall, gabbing with our friends in our dormitories. If only…_   
Alas, there was no use crying over the irreversible, she reasoned. She finished mopping up her soup bowl with the crust of her bread, and went to help Mother wash the dishes. 

 

*

Immediately after lunch they were back on the trail. Red-leafed trees and sloping hills soon gave way to barren grasslands. Rose found it easier to push the handcart over this terrain, though she frequently lost sight of her boots in the high grass and came close to tripping over the hem of her skirt. A cool, October breeze ran through her braided hair, giving it an ammoniac scent.   
Just before nightfall the company came to a small mountain overlooking the prairie.   
“Will we be able to go around it, Father?” Fanny asked.  
“Hmm…I don’t think so,” Father replied. “We’re going to go over it.”  
Maxwell and Rose exchanged worried looks, but continued to push the cart. Two hundred yards ahead of them, the first of the company began to head up the mountain. Women took the lead, pulling the carts, while their husbands and sons pushed from behind. Rose saw several people slip, sliding downwards a bit, but they all got back up and continued their overtake of the mountain.  
As the Peabodys got nearer to it, Rose heard a man a few carts in front of them shout, “We need to climb on alternating sides to reduce the risk of falling into the people behind us!”  
The Peabodys positioned their cart to the lower right of the cart in front of them; in front of that cart was a cart to the upper right, and in front of them a cart to the upper left, and so forth, leaving about ten yards of space between the cart directly in front of another.   
The mountain was neither terribly large nor especially steep; nevertheless, it took every bit of combined strength Rose, Fanny, and Mother possessed to pull the cart. Father and Maxwell, the strongest in the family, pushed. Sweat began to trickle down Rose’s face as she dug her heels into the ground for traction. Her breathing became heavy panting, and the pain in her chest caused her to whimper slightly.   
“You girls are doing so well,” Mother said, her voice weak. Rose felt sick as she thought about the toll this must be taking on Mother’s pregnant body. “Come on, now…we’re almost halfway to the peak.”  
Once or twice Rose lost her footing and fell to her knees –– and Fanny even more so –– but with Maxwell and Father keeping a firm hold on the back of the cart, no terrible accidents occurred. They had nearly gotten to the top, however, when they heard several shrieks below them. The stopped for a moment, turning around to see what had happened. It appeared one handcart had taken a tumble and thus created a domino effect, affecting two other carts. The stewards of each were strewn across the ground, some groaning in pain, though nobody seemed to be seriously hurt. The families of the handcarts surrounding them quickly came to their aid and helped them back on their feet.   
“We need to keep moving,” Father said. “They’re all right — they’ll catch up.”   
Finally they arrived at the peak, but there was no time for breaks. They immediately began their descent downhill, which Rose found to be even more of a struggle due to the leverage challenge. This time, Maxwell and Father took the lead (“We wouldn’t want you ladies getting hurt”) while Mother, Fanny, and Rose handled the cart from behind. Below was an enormous lake that stretched out far beyond the horizon – for a split second Rose wondered if they had reached the ocean, but then realized how absurd the idea was. They were traveling through inland America, no where near the coast.   
By the time the entire company had crossed the mountain it was dark. They set up camp on the edge of the lake and built a fire. Several people pulled out their fiddles and burst into tune –– children danced and laughed gaily, relieved to have conquered their first major obstacle.   
Mother helped the other women prepare a quick, late supper; Father went to go talk to Mr. Scott about upcoming hunting prospects. The Peabody children sat next to their handcart, watching the rest of the children dance and clap around the fire. One of the families had brought along caramel candies and was passing them out to the children.  
“Maxwell?” Rose said gently, turning to her brother. “Do you hate me?”  
Maxwell blinked, looking dumbfounded. “Why would I ever…What?”  
Rose averted her eyes and rested her chin on her knees. “You know…because it was _my_ doing that we met those missionaries in the first place. We wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for me.”  
“Maybe so. But still, we _all_ made the choice to be baptized — we didn’t have to.”   
“I know,” Rose sighed. “I just can’t help but think how everything could be different if it wasn’t for the tiniest things. You wish you were at Hogwarts right now, don’t you?”  
“Yeah,” Maxwell admitted, fidgeting with a stick. “I’m glad we joined the church, but I wish we could have stayed in England.”  
“So do I.”  
Maxwell grimaced. “I guess we need to go wherever the Lord needs us. Perhaps someday this will all make sense.”  
From near the fire pit a small child screamed. His mother rushed over to him and hollered to her husband, “A SNAKE! MICHAEL’S LEG! HURRY!”  
“Yeah,” Rose said quietly.


	8. Chapter 8

Rose awoke the next morning to cloudy skies and cooler temperatures. The slight breeze from the day before had turned into a full blown gust, and several people scrambled to retrieve their items that had blown away.   
After breakfast the company captain announced that they would be attempting to cross the lake before a potential storm hit.   
“It’s not very deep,” he told them. “No more than four feet at the most, towards the center, but this wind might complicate things a bit.”  
The group was instructed to tie their belongings to the handcarts tightly, putting their food on top. As soon as everybody prepared their carts, they started their journey across the lake. People yelped as the cold, bright blue water engulfed their lower halves. Rose pursed her lips as she and Maxwell helped push their cart into the lake. Father and Mother pulled, warning the children of upcoming bumps and dips.  
Within minutes they were in waist-high water; Mother urgently instructed Rose and Maxwell to help Fanny into the cart, which by that time had begun to float. Around them, Rose could see that many other people were having difficulty controlling their carts as well. Overhead the clouds began to thicken, and Rose felt a tiny raindrop hit her cheek. Her heart pounded, but she was determined to not let the rest of the family see her fear. The wind gusts started to pick up, and Rose’s hair blew so wildly around her face she had a hard time seeing where she was going.   
“Hey!” Father called to the rest of the company over the roaring wind. “Do you think we ought to turn back?”  
There was an almost unanimous no. Several people began to speak at once.  
“We’re just about halfway across — no point in going back now!”  
“Just take your time. Don’t let your carts capsize.”  
“A little wind and rain never hurt nobody!”  
“Say a prayer!”  
It happened before anyone had time to react — like a stampede of elephants that no one saw coming. The wind began to blow with a force that Rose had never felt in her life; a torrent of rain and hail pounded down upon them; the lake, now acting as a river, swept them off their feet and began to carry them to the left.   
“MOTHER, WHAT’S HAPPENING?” Fanny screamed.  
“Hold on the carts, kids!” Father shouted. “HOLD ON! DO NOT LET GO!”  
The water continued to carry them away, and within seconds the rain had blurred Rose’s vision entirely. She held on to the cart with all her might and screamed, “WHERE ARE YOU? IS EVERYBODY HERE!”   
“I’LL TRY TO GET THE WANDS!” Father shouted. “KEEP HOLDING ON TO THE CART, ALL OF YOU!”  
Rose could barely make out Father’s silhouette in front of her, rummaging in the cart.   
“Damn it!” he hissed. “They’re not here. We sent them with Scott!”  
Rose’s heart sunk as she prepared to die. There was no hope now — she knew it. They would meet their ends here, in this god forsaken lake.  
_And it’s_ my _fault,_ she thought, hating herself.   
The rain, the wind, the swaying, and the jerking went on for the next several minutes. Rose didn’t even know if her family was all still there. Obedient to Father’s order to not let go of the cart, she wrapped her legs around the spokes of one of the wheels and lifted her right hand to feel if Maxwell was still beside her. Sure enough, she managed to grab his shoulder. She reached in front of her and felt Fanny’s soft curls.   
“FATHER? MOTHER?” she cried.   
“We’re here, darling!” came Mother’s voice. “Just keep holding on, this will be over soon!”  
Rose could see nothing but a vast sheet of rain. Water gushed around her ears, and occasionally she felt her head begin to go under. She wasn’t sure how much longer she would be able to keep it up.   
_Please, God,_ she prayed, tears soaking her face along with the water. _Don’t let us die like this. We need to make it to Salt Lake._   
The whole family screamed as they were doused with a thick wave.   
“WE’RE ALL RIGHT!” Father called.   
An eternity could have passed and Rose would have had no idea — she didn’t know if ten minutes had passed since the time the storm started, or fifty, or perhaps even more. But eventually, impossible though it seemed, the rain began to let up; the water slowed down, and Rose could see her family again. Father and Mother remained clutching the cart handle, while Fanny lay face down, spread eagle on top of the bundle, her small hands gripped to the front of the cart. Maxwell, like Rose, kept his hands firmly attached to the back. Rose couldn’t make out where they were, but she could tell that they had been completely separated from the rest of the company, for they were no where in sight.   
“The shore’s straight ahead!” Father called, pointing to land about fifty yards to their left.   
The fact that Rose couldn’t touch the bottom with her feet told her that they were still in a deep part of the lake.   
_If we can just make it to where the water is shallow…_ she thought.  
But her thought was overtaken by a final, sudden blow of water. This wave, perhaps the strongest one yet, swept the family away from the handcart and towards the shore at a terrifying speed. Rose gasped as she realized that she was headed directly for a very large boulder.  
It came closer, and closer, and then…  
She screamed. Everything went dark. 

 

*

Rose slowly opened her eyes, unaware of why she had fallen asleep. Mother, Father, Maxwell, and Fanny all surrounded her, looking deeply concerned.  
“Mother? Why am I…?”   
She sat up and looked around. The rain had stopped and the sun was shining. At her feet the lake remained still and peaceful, as though that horrid storm had never happened.  
“You hit your head,” Father explained. “On the boulder. It knocked you unconscious for nearly an hour.”  
Rose turned around and saw the huge rock behind her. She gingerly put a hand to her forehead and felt that it was wrapped with some type of cloth.  
“You were bleeding quite badly,” Mother said, putting her arm around Rose. “Thankfully I knew how to make a Muggle bandage.”  
“But everyone’s all right?” Rose asked weakly, barely able to keep her eyes open.   
“Yes,” Father replied. “Shaken, but we’re okay. I just want to kick myself for not making room for the wands — if we’d had them Mother, and I could have used side-along Apparition to get you children to shore sooner.”  
“And the baby? Is the baby okay?”  
Mother smiled. “The baby is fine, dear. In fact, I just felt him — or her — kick a few minutes ago.”  
An enormous weight lifted off Rose’s chest, and she breathed a deep sigh of relief.   
_Thank you, God,_ she thought.   
“We’ve lost the rest of the company, though,” Maxwell said.   
Rose looked around and realized for the first time how utterly unfamiliar the territory was — it looked nothing like the area they had started the day in.   
“What do we do?” she whispered, mortified.   
“That’s what we’re trying to decide,” Fanny said, a pout on her lips.   
Slowly, Rose found the strength to get up. She walked to the shore of the lake and gazed out upon it, trying desperately to make out something — anything — to help her determine where they were and how far they had come. Rocky hills surrounded each side of the lake, and behind them was the entrance to a thick wood.   
“Well, we’ve come to the far side, that much we do know,” Mother said.  
Rose knew she ought to be thankful that she and her family were alive, but she couldn’t help feeling a twinge of anger — at herself _and_ God.  
_Two days on the trail and we’ve already brushed the cloak of death,_ she thought bitterly. She gazed at her reflection, soaking wet and disheveled, in the murky green water. _I cannot believe this. We’re doing his will, why must we suffer this way?_  
Suddenly it hit her.  
“Mother! Father!” she called, and ran back to her family. “This isn’t the lake we were attempting to cross.”  
Her parents frowned.  
“What do you mean, Rose, of course this is the same lake,” Father said. “Why on earth would you think otherwise?”  
“Because the water in that lake was a pretty, clear blue color — don’t you remember? And _this_ water is very green and dirty.”  
The family followed her to the edge of the shore and examined the lake.  
“You’re right about that,” Father admitted. “But it doesn’t necessarily mean this is another lake. That lake we crossed was gigantic, and it would make perfect sense that one end looks completely different than the other.”  
“Father, I know this isn’t the same one,” Rose protested.   
“Rose, you hit your head, dear,” Mother said gently. “When that sort of thing happens, it’s quite normal for an otherwise very logical person to — ”  
“Mother,” Rose sighed. “We’re not even remotely in the same place. I know it.”  
“Rose, do be reasonable,” Father said. “How could we have possibly been carried into another lake? We were in water the whole time.”  
“I don’t know, it doesn’t make sense. But if you follow me up along the side of the lake, you’ll see.”  
Father and Mother agreed, and followed Rose up the right side of the lake for ten minutes. No matter how far along they got, the water remained an awful, muddy green.   
“Hold on,” Maxwell said. “How long did that storm even last, anyway?”  
The family looked at each other, but it was clear that nobody had a good answer.   
“The two lakes must be connected somehow,” Rose muttered, frowning. “Either way, we’ve got to keep walking until we find the group.”  
A little further ahead they caught sight of the splintered remains of what Rose was certain had been their handcart. She and her siblings rushed to it, and found their soaked belongings scattered among the ruins.  
“It’s all here!” Mother cried as she gathered the things up. “Praise be to God!”

Father frowned as he examined the pile. “Not quite. The food is missing – our flour, our eggs, our corn…of all the things to lose…”  
At the edge of the hill Rose noticed a light brown, cylindrical package. She hurriedly unwrapped it to find what was left of the dragon meat safely inside, looking as though it hadn’t even been touched by the water.   
“The dragon meat!” she exclaimed.   
The rest of the family rushed to her side and cheered at having found the meat.  
“We’re going to be okay, children,” Father said, picking up Fanny and kissing her cheek. “This here is enough meat to keep us full for several days. By that time I’m certain we’ll have found our way back!”


	9. Chapter 9

The lake seemed to go on forever, but eventually they reached the end of it. They hadn’t yet found the company, but one thing was certain: Rose had been right about this lake being a different one than the one they’d attempted to cross. A tributary flowed from far side of the green one, and Father thought it likely that somehow, the lake they’d started in was connected to this one through one or more rivers.   
“How will we ever find our way back to the others?” Fanny asked.  
“Don’t worry, darling,” Mother reassured her. “I’ll bet they’ve turned around and are looking for us now.”  
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Maxwell snickered sardonically. “What are the chances they’ll notice five people missing out of — five hundred?”  
“Max,” Mother chided him. “The Scotts know us, they’ve talked with us. They’ll have noticed we didn’t make it across, and alerted the others.”  
But deep down Rose wasn’t entirely convinced.  
“Come on,” Father said, pointing to the alternate lake to their upper left. “That’s the lake we started off on. The rest of the company can’t be far from here.”  
The family trudged across the side of the muddy hill, following the shore of the clear blue lake. There was still no sign of another soul, however, and the more they walked, the more Rose became discouraged.   
_They’ve gone,_ she thought. _They’re long gone._   
From the looks on Mother and Father’s faces she could tell that they were beginning to fear the same.  
“Timothy, do you think we ought to head back to town?” Mother asked. “The group has gone on ahead, that is evident now. It seems unwise to continue west on our own and risk getting more lost than we already are.”  
Father stopped in his tracks and sighed. He slowly dropped to one knee and ran his fingers through his thick, blond hair. “We’ve already come so far…I would hate to have to turn around now. They can’t be far from here, Lucy.”  
Slowly closing her eyes, mother pursed her lips and nodded.   
“Of course,” Father continued, standing back up and putting a hand on her shoulder, “if you really think it’s a bad idea to go on, we’ll turn around. If we start heading back east now, we could be in Iowa City tomorrow night.”   
“Oh, Timothy, I don’t know,” Mother murmured, her brow creased. “Perhaps we ought to go a bit farther – if we haven’t found the company by nightfall, we’ll make camp and start heading back the next morning.”  
“You’re sure about this, Lucy?” Father asked.  
“I am if you are.”  
Father thought for a moment, pacing back and forth on the steep riverbank.   
“All right,” he agreed. “God help us if this turns out to be a mistake, but I have to believe fortune is on our side; we’ve already proved our faith.”  
Before heading on, Mother suggested that the family kneel together for a prayer of comfort and protection.   
“I’m hungry,” Fanny complained as they resumed walking.   
“We all are, darling,” Mother said. “But the only food we have is the dragon meat, and we need to hold on to it until the point of absolute desperation.”  
Rose felt a twinge of disappointment as her stomach growled in agreement with Fanny.   
“We might be able to find some berries along the way,” Father said. “But I’m not worried — I’ll bet within a few hours we’ll have found the company.”  
Soon all the water sources had vanished from view, and Rose knew they were back on the trail, or at least headed in the right direction.  
“Keep your eyes open for scraps, or anything else the group might have left behind to help us find them,” Mother said.  
Tall, thorny grass cut through Rose’s skirt, leaving her legs scratched and stinging. When mother noticed this she sighed.  
“If only I had my wand,” she muttered. “I could have that fixed in a second.”  
The one thing Mother and Father had allowed the children to bring along from the crash site was an extra pair of clothes each; without the handcart, they just wouldn’t be able to carry much else, Father had explained. Rose carried her blue calico dress underneath her skirt, tucked securely behind the waistband. As much as she wished to change out of her muddy, torn skirt, she thought it wise to save the clean dress for later — they had only just begun their journey, after all.   
They walked for several hours but found no trace of the company. As dusk settled over the long, stretching prairie on which they currently found themselves, Rose’s stomach began to lurch with anxiety. She had no idea where they were, and neither did Father or Mother.   
“I suppose we’ll rest here for the night,” Father said with a sad look on his face. “We’ll start heading back first thing in the morning. I don’t think there’s much hope of finding the group now, and we can’t risk getting more lost than we already are.”  
Mother made a small fire and cooked a chunk of the dragon meat, allotting each member of the family a finger-sized amount.   
Rose, having not eaten since earlier that morning, ate her share in one bite. Never before had the dragon meat tasted so good, and within mere minutes she began to feel a warm sensation in her stomach and was no longer hungry.   
“We shouldn’t need to eat again until late tomorrow,” Father said. “Half an ounce of dragon meat will keep anybody going strong for several hours.”  
“What will we sleep on?” Fanny asked, looking around at the flat expanse surrounding them.   
Rose saw Father and Mother exchange somber glances, and Mother said, “For tonight we’ll have to make do on the ground, dear. Perhaps when we stop tomorrow night we’ll be able to find something to cushion ourselves with.”  
“May we use our extra clothes as pillows?” Rose asked. “I don’t think they would get too dirty here.”  
Mother thought for a moment. “All right. But treat them gently — they’re all we have until we get back into town.”  
Soon the sun was down are there was total darkness. Rose could hardly see the rest of her family, though they all were laying within a few feet of her. She had no concept of how much time was passing — perhaps it was several hours. All she knew was that she couldn’t sleep, and spent most of the night tossing and turning.   
As was usual when she was up late unable to sleep, her mind raced with whatever her current troubles may be. On this night she found herself, once again, contemplating God.   
_Of course he doesn’t care about what we’re going through,_ she reasoned. _There are people much worse off that us, after all…people deathly ill and dying._   
But then guilt stopped her in her tracks as she realized that God _had,_ in fact, taken care of her family. Just that day he had saved them from drowning, hadn’t he?  
It could have just been a coincidence, Rose thought in spite of herself. Maybe we just got lucky. There is no proof that divine intervention played any role in our survival.  
For a long time she had believed that there must be an answer for everything somewhere. If she visited the library enough, read enough books, talked it over with her parents and professors, surely she would eventually acquire that knowledge she so desperately sought after. But that all changed on the day she met Elder Sage and Elder Harris. It was then that she began to realize there were some questions that nobody could truly know the answer to — and that bothered her tremendously. You could feel a certain way, you could believe with all your heart that something was true, but just because you felt that way didn’t necessarily make it so. It was a harsh reality, and often it seemed to Rose she was the only one in her family who really understood that. As far as she could tell, neither Mother, Father, Maxwell or Fanny harbored any doubts about God or the church. It was understandable with Fanny, as she was still very young and liable to follow blindly in the footsteps of those she trusted, but Rose found it concerning that none of the others could apply critical thought to their newfound beliefs.  
Earlier that day, shortly before arriving at their rest stop, Rose had asked her parents about the validity of the Book of Mormon.   
“Are you sure it’s historically accurate?” she asked. “I’ve read books about the ancient peoples of the Americas, and they are not the descendants of the Israelites.”  
She instantly realized she had hit a nerve, as the looks on her parents’ faces tensed up and Father said, “Rose, you know the Book of Mormon was inspired of God. Why all these questions? I thought you had a testimony of this.”  
She couldn’t bear to admit that that testimony had taken a major blow from the events of that day, so she simply replied, “I do, I…was just curious.”  
Mother shook her head disapprovingly. “Faith does not require proof, honey. We are not going to receive all the answers right away. That’s why Heavenly Father sent us down here, you know — we needed to be tested to see if we would trust in him unconditionally, even when it is not easy.”  
Rose had kept her eyes averted from Mother’s and remained silent.   
“Do you understand?” Mother asked gently, seeing her daughter’s upset demeanor.   
“Yes,” Rose had replied, but that was a lie.

 

*

Rose had only managed to sleep for a short time before waking. It was still dark with no hint of the coming dawn, so she assumed it was quite early in the morning.   
Sighing, she turned over to her left side and closed her eyes once more. It was a surprisingly warm night for autumn, and if there was one thing she was grateful for, it was that no blankets or additional layers of clothing were needed, because they didn’t have them.   
_Thank goodness it’s not winter,_ she thought.  
Winter. She shuddered at the very thought of being out in this wilderness is such harsh conditions, and prayed that once they got back to Iowa City, Mother and Father wouldn’t decide to join up with the next company, or at least that they’d wait until spring before attempting to make the trip again. Of course, what she really wanted was to return to England, but she knew there was a better chance of Merlin himself popping up from the dead than of _that_ happening.  
She had just gotten her head comfortable on her dress when she first heard it: the sound of a low, droning growl. It seemed to be coming from somewhere off in the distance, but close enough to the family that it turned Rose’s blood cold. She slowly sat up and looked around, her heart pounding rapidly; she couldn’t make out anything in the dark except the faint outlines of her parents and siblings. Everything beyond that point was flooded in a sea of blackness.  
After a moment she calmed down and thought that perhaps she had just imagined the noise — she was sleep-deprived, after all, and not in the most tranquil state of mind. The rest of the family hadn’t been awoken by this noise — and it had been fairly loud — so that confirmed her rationale.   
But a few minutes later she heard it again, and this time it seemed to be closer. Rose now knew for certain that this was real, but she couldn’t figure out what it was. It sounded unlike anything she had heard before. Was it coming from a magical, or a non-magical beast? Or maybe it wasn’t an animal at all, but something else. Regardless, in a confused and terrified panic, Rose shook her parents awake.   
“Rose?” Father croaked, slowly opening his eyes and sitting up. “What’s the matter?”   
“I heard something — did you hear that?” Rose asked frantically.   
“Heard what, honey?” Mother asked, yawning.   
“It sounded like a growl.”  
Now her parents were fully alert.  
“Where did you hear this sound?” Father asked. “Do you have any idea what could have made it?”  
“It seemed to be coming from that way,” Rose answered, pointing to the left. “But I don't know what it was.”  
“Timothy,” Mother whispered, putting her hand on her husband’s arm. “Do you think we ought to go investigate?”  
Father did not answer for a moment. Then he finally said, “No. Probably a pack of wolves moving through. I doubt if they’ll harm us — just stay still and keep your voice down.”  
“Really?” Rose asked. By this time the younger children were awake, and Mother was calmly explaining to them what was going on. “It didn’t sound anything like a wolf.”  
“Hmm…I don’t know,” Father said. “If you hear this noise again, tell us and we’ll pack up and move away from the area.”  
“Are you sure it’s safe to stay?” Rose asked, frowning. “The second time I heard it it seemed to have gotten closer.” She was suddenly hit with the horrifying realization that if they were attacked, they would have nothing to defend themselves with, and certainly no where to hide on this wide, open prairie.   
Almost as though he’d read her mind, Father responded, “I remember seeing a large stick not far from here. I’ll go try to find it if it would make you feel better.”  
“I’m coming with you!” Maxwell piped up. “You can’t just go alone, Father.”  
“Absolutely not,” Mother scolded him.   
Father agreed. “Your Mother’s right, Max. You children need to wait here with her; I’ll be back soon.”  
Father walked away, kicking at the ground as he went to try to find what he was looking for. Eventually he disappeared into the night.  
From the time Father was gone until the time he came back couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, but to Rose it seemed like hours. When they caught sight of his figure coming into view, there was a collective sigh of relief among Mother and the children. Thankfully he had with him a stick, about as thick as Rose’s arm and as tall as he was.   
“We’ll be okay,” he assured them. “Most wild animals wouldn’t confront a group of humans, and we haven’t got very much food on us anyway.”  
The stick and Father’s comforting words eased Rose’s fears, and she instantly fell asleep after laying back down.  
She didn’t hear the noise the rest of the night.


	10. Chapter 10

Mother awoke them early that morning to start their trek back to town, but just as they were heading out, something in the grass caught Rose’s eye: a small, red wrapper that looked like it had come from a piece of candy. She picked it up, unfurled it, and immediately knew what it was.  
“Mother! Father!” she called to her parents, who were walking with the younger children about fifteen yards ahead of her. They turned around and she ran to them.  
“Look at this,” she said, showing them the wrapper. “This had to have come from the company.”  
When met with blank stares, she continued. “Don’t you remember that first night? When we were all sitting around the campfire dancing and singing? Somebody was giving out candy, and I remember they came in a wrapper exactly like this.”  
Maxwell and Fanny, who had also been given candies, agreed as soon as they saw the wrapper.   
“How did we not see this yesterday?” Mother asked, examining it.  
“I don’t know — maybe the wind blew it towards us overnight,” Rose suggested.  
“There was no wind last night,” Father pointed out.  
“Then I don’t know. But I’m positive this wrapper came from somebody in the group, which means they had to have come through here.”  
“Then we _are_ on the right path!” Mother exclaimed, smiling. “Timothy, we’ve got to keep going.”  
“Of course,” Father agreed. “God be willing, we’ll find them.”  
It didn’t take long for Rose to realize her mistake. _Why_ did she have to show them the wrapper? What on earth was she thinking?  
_If it wasn’t for you we could be heading back now!_ she thought grumpily.   
Turning around for the second time the family began their long walk across the barren grassland. It stretched out for miles, but seemed to finally come to end at the place where the family stopped for their midday break.  
In front of them lay a thick, long wall of dense trees. It appeared they had come to the edge of a large forest.   
“Well stop here and rest for a while,” Father said.   
“Is there water nearby?” Rose asked. “I’m really thirsty — we haven’t had much to drink since yesterday.”  
“Probably a stream or something in there,” Father replied, nodding towards the trees.   
Luckily, as soon as they entered the forest they did find a stream. The water looked clean and safe, so Father and Mother gave the children permission to drink from it.  
“It’s too bad we don’t have anything to carry it in,” Mother sighed, looking worried. “We can’t count on finding water everywhere we go.”  
As Rose brought her head up from the water she felt something hard hit her nose. A small, winged creature with dark fur hovered inches from her face, and she screamed.  
“A doxy!” Fanny shrieked as she helped Mother pull Rose away from the creature.  
Then, four other identical creatures came zooming out from the trees, joining their mate near the Peabodys.  
“Come on, we need to get out of here!” Father urged them, grabbing Fanny’s hand and beginning to run. “We can’t afford to get bitten — we haven’t got an antidote!”  
The doxies trailed behind them for a good fifty yards, giggling madly, before finally giving up and retreating back to trees surrounding them.   
“Father?” Maxwell said, panting. “What if one of us gets hurt…I mean _really_ hurt…or sick…”  
“We can’t let that happen, Max,” Father said bluntly. “When we’re out in a place like this, hundreds of miles from a town and a healer –– and without magic, to boot! —we have to take care of ourselves. Because if something does happen…”  
Rose understood exactly what he was trying to say, and she felt a flood of anxiety.  
“It is imperative that we remain vigilant and strong,” Mother told them confidently, placing a hand on her bulging stomach. “We only have each other to rely on. I trust that you children will continue to be good and mind your Father and I. If there was ever a time we needed you to be on your best behavior, it’s now.”  
Rose nodded seriously, and her siblings, even little Fanny, did too.   
They followed the forest clearing for about twenty minutes before arriving at a steep, rocky mountain from which a waterfall fell. The family stopped to get another drink and continued past it.   
The clearing eventually gave way to another thick clump of trees. The Peabodys weaved their way through them, taking care not to trip over any fallen branches. After a while the ground begin rise up at a sharp incline, and Rose gripped at the trees to keep from slipping backwards.   
“Look at this!” Rose heard Fanny say from behind her.  
Carved on the tree Fanny was staring at were the words “SCOTT — 1857.”   
None of them needed to ask each other what it meant; Maxwell’s jaw dropped and Mother and Father exchanged hopeful looks. Whatever doubts they’d had about being on the wrong trail instantly vanished.   
“Lucy…they’ve been here,” Father said to Mother, a wide grin spreading across his face.   
“Praise God!” Mother said with a relieving sigh.   
“Come on,” Father said, resuming his hike up the hill. “We’ll catch up to them in no time.”

*

If by “in no time” Father meant “no sooner than tonight”, then he would have been absolutely correct, Rose thought irritably.   
It was now night again, and the family had made camp on the grass of a soft meadow several hours outside of the forest they’d found the tree carving. Rose felt that her feet might fall off at any time, they were so sore. Thankfully she found she was able to fall asleep much easier in that meadow than on the prairie the night before. This too was an unusually warm evening for October, and good thing, Father had said, for they had no additional layers of clothing for the cold — their coats had been lost in the storm.  
Everybody except Fanny was hungry the next morning, so Mother cooked another chunk of the dragon meat. Rose couldn’t help but notice how little of the meat remained. Worried, she asked Mother and Father what would happen if they didn’t get back to the company before it ran out.   
“I told you earlier,” Father said, chewing his piece. “We’ll probably stumble upon some berries; I’ve heard raspberries grow in this part of the country. And this place is teeming with rabbits and deer.”  
Seeing Rose’s unconvinced expression, he added, “Really, darling. We won’t starve — your Mother and I will see to that. Even if we have to resort to eating the grass we walk upon.”  
At this, even Maxwell and Fanny looked panicked.  
“Your Father jests, children,” Mother assured them, and Father nodded.  
But Rose didn’t believe that for a second.  
_We’re stuck in the middle of nowhere, with no idea where we are or where we’re going,_ she thought, at this point more angry than worried. _We don’t know when — or if — we’ll catch up with the rest of the group. We don’t have our wands, or any tools with which to catch food. Suppose we do end up having to eat this…_  
She scuffed the ground with her foot, suddenly feeling disgusted at the grass covering it.


	11. Three Days Later

What time it was, what day it was, and where they were, Rose still didn’t know.  
All she knew was that since the tree carving, they had found no other messages, no clues, not even the slightest indication, that they were on the path of the company; all she knew was that the weather was getting colder, and her family — especially Mother — was getting weaker; all she knew was that there was one tiny piece of dragon meat left, and it would have to be reserved for Mother, of course. Most damningly, she knew that only one of two possibilities could be the case at the moment: that either God was aware of their suffering but chose to do nothing about it, or he wasn’t actually there, and therefore not aware. Both scenarios were highly unattractive to her.  
_I don’t understand,_ she thought sadly as the family trudged through a muddy marsh. _We’re doing what God wants for us. Just by coming here, we’ve put so much faith into him. Why is he letting this happen?_  
A lump rose in her throat as she began to consider that perhaps they weren’t _worthy_ of God’s blessings. Despite leaving their home in England to join with their fellow Saints in the promised land, maybe God was angry at them over something. They sinned, of course, just like everybody else, but not without repenting of those sins. She wondered about anything she might have done to offend God.   
When she was seven, she’d stolen Mother’s wand from her bedside table and used it to curse Maxwell — who had been teasing her about her childhood lisp — with the first random curse that had come into her mind. Being that she was young and inexperienced with magic, the wand malfunctioned and caused Max to sprout tentacles from his mouth and ears. He was in St. Mungo’s for two weeks.  
But surely God wouldn’t be punishing the whole family for _Rose’s_ wrongdoing, would he? And especially not now, all these years later?  
Or maybe, she wondered, it wasn’t something she did, but something she thought. The Bible mentioned lust several times…and how simply the fantasy of such things was sinful in itself. She’d had feelings for her one of her housemates, Leonard Tayte, ever since starting Hogwarts. Did that count as lust? Once or twice she’d even imagined kissing him…but he, as far as she knew, did not reciprocate those feelings, at least not to the extent that she felt them, so not much happened between the two besides friendly gab and homework help.  
_Maybe if I repented of that sin, God would forgive me and help my family get to Salt Lake safely._   
She resolved to have a private discussion with God as soon as they made camp for the evening.

*

“Where are we, Mother?” Fanny asked.  
It was the next day, and the family found themselves in the middle of yet another vast prairie.  
Mother smiled at her youngest daughter, though her eyes revealed a tired desperation; Rose couldn’t help but noticing small wrinkles beginning to form around them, and her face looked more gaunt than she had ever seen it — even more so than during her ill spell back in June. Her bronze-colored hair failed to keep up in a bun, and her bangs had fallen sloppily around her cheeks.   
“I don’t know, darling,” Mother answered honestly.   
“When will we catch up with the company?” Fanny asked.  
Mother sighed, and attempting to maintain her composure, replied, “I don’t think we will.”  
At this, Maxwell, stopped in his tracks and stood still the stick he had been walking with. “Then what will we do?”  
“We have to keep walking until we find a town,” Father said. “Or at least the home of some good person who would be willing to take us in for a few days until we could make transportation arrangements. We’ve been wandering around out here for five days now. We’ll run into someone sooner or later, we’re bound to. Until then we will stay strong, eat off the land, and rest when we need to.”  
From what Rose knew about America, the inland wasn’t as densely settled as the eastern coast. She’d heard stories about people wandering for weeks out here without seeing another soul.  
After about a week Rose began to lose track of time. Days passed like a blur, each one seeming like some horrible nightmare that she would eventually have to wake up from. They crossed barren wildernesses, woods, prairies, and wetlands, but didn’t find a trace of civilization. The weather had gotten much colder, and the family huddled close together each night in order to extort what little heat their collective bodies could produce. Mother was nearing the end of her pregnancy, and now struggled to walk due to weakness and the heaviness of her stomach — Father carried her much of the time.   
One morning Father announced that he was going to go hunting in the forest they had set up camp next to. The dragon meat was beginning to wear off in their bodies, and somehow or other they needed to find another food source.   
“You children stay here and mind your Mother,” he told them before heading off. “Hopefully I won’t be gone long.”  
Mother and the children waited for him on the outskirts of the forest, trying to stay warm in the bitter chilliness.   
“This is so boring,” Maxwell moaned. “If only I had my broom…Want to stay in shape so I can join the Quidditch team at my new school.”   
“Perhaps once we get settled into our new home we can buy you a new one, dear,” Mother said.   
Rose picked up a nearby stick and began to draw in the mud.   
“Hey Maxwell, Fanny,” she said, beckoning to her siblings. “Want to play a game of tic-tac-toe?”  
Hours passed and Father still hadn’t returned. But Mother told them not to worry.  
“If there’s one thing I’m sure of,” she said, “it’s that your father wouldn’t return to you children empty handed. He would stay out there searching for food all night if he had to. We just need to have patience.”  
But as the afternoon came and went and Rose’s stomach started to grumble, her patience wore thin.   
_It just isn’t fair,_ she thought. _Why isn’t God answering our prayers?_  
By this point she had begun to notice a cycle — she would pray to God asking for his blessings and comfort; when those blessings did not come, she started feeling angry towards him and even doubting his existence; this in turn, however, caused her to feel guilty and worthless, so she would offer a sincere prayer of repentance along with a desperate plea for help. Nothing would change, and the cycle would repeat itself.   
She thought about expressing her concerns to her parents, but didn’t want to burden them any more than they already were. It didn’t help that she didn’t even have so much as a Book of Mormon or Bible to study in introspection.   
Just before sundown they heard the faint, yet distinct sound of horse hoofbeats in the distance. They drew nearer and nearer…  
Rose’s heart leapt. Was this it? Were they finally going to be rescued?  
A relieved smile was beginning to form on Mother’s tired face, and Fanny and Maxwell stared at her anxiously.   
Soon the source of the noise made itself known. Six or seven people mounted on horses came riding over the hill to the east of them, perhaps one hundred yards away.   
Rose instantly realized, however, that these were unlike any people she had ever seen before: they wore long robes that seemed to be made out of some sort of animal skin, and feathers adorned their long, braided hair.   
“OVER HERE!” Mother shouted as they rode by, still at a distance. She waved her arms, and the children joined her in making as much noise as possible, but the men did not seem to notice them. Finally, one of the natives turned to look in their direction, but quickly diverted his attention back ahead, as though unfazed by the sight of a woman and three children jumping around and screaming. It suddenly occurred to Rose that the men probably couldn’t understand English, and she pointed this out to her family.   
“We have to follow them,” Mother said, gathering up her skirts and walking as quickly as she could after the group. “And try to communicate with them somehow. Even if they couldn’t get us to town, I’m sure they could give us some sort of idea where we are.”  
Rose took Fanny’s hand and hurried after her, but deep down she knew it was no use; there was no way they could catch up with running horses. After about a quarter mile it seemed Mother realized this too, for she fell to her knees and simply stared into the distance — the men were long gone. She began to sob quietly, wiping her eyes with her skirt.  
Fanny, concerned, went to comfort her Mother while Maxwell watched sympathetically from their side.   
As much as Rose wanted to cry too, she couldn’t bear to let the others see her break down — not here, not now.   
“I know they saw us,” she said, trying to sound as hopeful as possible. “Perhaps they’ll come back to meet us, or at least send word that we’re out here.”  
Mother’s face was buried in her hands, and she didn’t look up. Soft cries emitted from her trembling body, and it pained and frightened Rose to see her mother looking so helplessly frail.  
After a moment Mother slowly stood back up and said quietly, “Let’s go back.”  
They gloomily made their way back to the campsite and, to further dampen the mood, found that Father still hadn’t returned. They sat in silence until dark came, at which time Mother put Fanny to bed and advised Maxwell and Fanny to get some sleep as well.  
“I’d prefer to sit up and wait for Father,” Rose said, and Maxwell agreed.  
Mother sighed, giving a weak smile. “All right. I suppose I can’t blame you. I’m not sure I’ll be sleeping much myself tonight.”  
Hours passed until Rose was sure it was past midnight. Mother made a fire for light and to keep them warm, and the children sat huddled around it, chins on knees and barely saying a word to each other.   
Finally they caught sight of a dark figure emerging from the trees. It was Father, carrying the limp bodies of two rabbits.  
“Oh, thank heavens!” Mother sighed, rushing towards him.  
They told him about the Indians that had passed by, and how they’d tried to get their attention.  
“Probably couldn’t understand you,” Father said, confirming Rose’s suspicion. “Most of the native peoples haven’t got the best grasp of English, from what I’ve been told.”  
“Still, you’d think it odd that they couldn’t see we were distressed,” Mother said.  
But Father didn’t look surprised. “Mmm, their ways are different from ours. Keep in mind, we’re just as much strangers to them as they are to us.”  
The next morning Mother cooked one of the rabbits for breakfast. None of them had eaten in days, and eagerly gobbled the meat right up, washing it down with the water from a nearby stream. She took off Fanny’s apron and used it as a sack to carry what little of the first rabbit was left.  
For the next several days they continued walking, surviving off small animals and edible plants. Rose, fresh from two years of Herbology class, was quick to point out what things were safe to eat and what was not. Luckily they didn’t have much trouble finding water, and damn good thing, Father said, for they wouldn’t last very long without it. However, without their wands they could not perform a water-purifying spell on it, so they had to take their chances — if it looked relatively clean, they drank from it; if not, they passed it up.   
Though they’d come across a number of beasts, most recently a pair of irate Sasquatch families who appeared to be engaged in a territorial battle, they had yet to find one person save for the Indians Mother and the children had seen that evening Father was off hunting. In all her life Rose had never seen a stretch of land so vast and empty as the part of the country they had been traveling in from the very first day on the trail. It became clear that Mother and Father had given up hope of finding civilization anytime soon.  
“What if we’re stuck out here forever?” Fanny asked, a frightened pout on her lips.  
“We won’t be, darling,” Mother assured her, though Rose, who was holding wood to make a fire for that night, could see the doubt in her eyes. “We’ll find help — or help will come to us — in God’s time.”  
At this Rose slammed the wood to the ground and shouted, “There is NO God! You all just need to get over that fact and face reality.”  
The family stared at her, too shocked to react. Rose, who they had come to trust as a mature voice of calm and reason, was not one to lose her temper like this.  
“Rose, honey…” Mother said, quickly standing up to comfort her. Father gently put his hand on Rose’s shoulder, but she pushed it off.  
“Don’t touch me!” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks.   
She turned around and angrily strode away from her family.   
“Darling, let’s talk,” Father pleaded, chasing after her. “Everything is going to be okay, I prom—”  
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep!” Rose sobbed. “You _know_ we’re never going to make it to Salt Lake; winter is coming, and you _know_ we’re going to die out here! It’s just a matter of time, Father!”  
She fell to the ground, wailing. “ Look at Mother. She’s weaker than ever, and could have the baby any day now. What are we going to do if something goes wrong? We’re clearly no where near a hospital, and none of us knows the slightest thing about childbirth!”  
“Rose, listen to me,” Father said. “God will take care of her. She is strong and faithful, and by the power of the priesthood I will be able to bless her.”  
“Oh _please!”_ Rose scoffed. “That’s nothing but superstition, and I would have thought your intellect above that nonsense…but clearly it’s not, as it was your idea to come out here in the first place.”  
At this Father dropped his head and sighed, a look of shame on his face. Rose could tell she’d gotten her point across with him — and probably deeply hurt him. But she was beyond the point of caring; she could care less if _now_ he decided coming on this trip was a bad idea. _Bit late for that,_ she thought. All she cared about now was her family, especially her pregnant Mother, getting to safety. And she knew it was pointless to rely on a nonexistent God to save them.   
“Faith is not an easy thing, Rose,” he told her quietly. “Trials are simply a part of our lives, and we don’t always know why. That doesn’t mean there is no God, however. It just means he is preparing us for some great blessing in the future. I know it may be hard for you to understand right now, but you will some day.”  
Rose was too mad to even respond. She glared at him, got up, and walked back to Mother and her siblings.  
That night they ate dinner in silence. The tense atmosphere followed them to bed, with Rose still in a sour mood.   
She had never spoken to her parents the way she’d spoken to them that day, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel sorry about it. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she became convinced they had made a fatal decision for the family — one that they could not get themselves out of. They had allowed themselves to be swayed by the opinions of two young men — mere children, really — and a book that was most likely the fictitious work of a con man. Against all sound advice, they had chosen to embark on a dangerous journey through what had to be one of the most rugged, desolate places on earth. And for that they deserved all the criticism in the world.   
But then again, Rose thought, didn’t _she_ believe this tosh at one point? Wasn’t it her that brought the missionaries home to meet the family, after all?  
_Yes,_ she thought. _But_ they _were the grownups. It was ultimately their decision to leave England, not mine, Fanny’s or Maxwell’s. I didn’t force them to believe anything._   
For the first time in her life, she hated her parents.


	12. Chapter 12

Two days later Rose was still not speaking to either of her parents. No matter how hard they tried, they could not get her to open up to them. Fanny and Maxwell, sensing her anger, steered clear.   
Mother and Father had begun praying harder than ever, insisting on a blessing — that often lasted a few minutes — before each meal. Rose suspected it had a lot to do with trying to bring her back “into the fold.” It wasn’t working.  
With Mother’s due date being an estimated two weeks away they struggled desperately to find help, covering more ground each day than they had in the beginning. Everyone was worried about her, but managed to keep up a strong front for her sake. Father laid his hands on her head and gave her a blessing every night before bed.   
Eventually Rose was back on speaking terms with her siblings. At night she and Maxwell would lie awake and whisper about their hopes and fears for their new life in America. Maxwell stated that he was most looking forward to living the gospel among fellow Saints, a desire to which Rose surreptitiously rolled her eyes; Rose was excited to — provided they came out alive from all this — complete her education and someday publish her own spellbooks. She had already invented a few basic spells, and frequently longed to be back in school practicing magic.   
The family was surprised to see Father come home empty handed from a hunting excursion one day. Usually he had no problem finding small game, so Rose was concerned.  
“Nothing,” he said, putting up his hands in frustration. “I’ve been gone nearly six hours and haven’t been able to catch a damn thing.”  
“We still have a few yarrow flowers left,” Mother said. “We’ll have to make do on those until tomorrow.”  
But the next day Father also came home without meat, and Rose wasn’t finding any edible plants nearby.   
“It’ll be fine, kids,” Father assured them. “People have survived on less food than we have.”  
“What was that?” Rose asked. “I couldn’t hear you over the sound of my growling stomach.”

*

When Father came home without food the third day, real panic started to set in.  
_This is it,_ Rose thought. _I_ knew _this would happen at some point._   
“We won’t starve,” Father told them for what must have been the hundredth time that week. “We might have to strip the bark off trees, but at least we’ll have something in our stomachs.”  
As if wild animals and plants weren’t bad enough, Rose thought irritably.  
“You know what sounds good right now?” Maxwell said, a devilish grin forming on his lips. “Gillyweed chicken and creamed corn.”  
“That’s not even _funny,_ \- Max!” Rose snapped, and Mother and Father gave him a stern look of disapproval.  
But the next morning Rose was awoken to Mother frantically shaking her.  
“Get up, child!” she said. “Come look, you’ll never believe this…”  
Rose groggily rubbed her eyes as the sunlight hit her face. Several loaves of bread were scattered on the ground, with a jar of what looked like honey in the center.   
Completely dumbfounded, she asked her parents where they had gotten them.   
“That’s just the thing, darling,” Father said, planting a kiss on her cheek. “We _didn’t_ find them. Someone must have left them during the night. We woke up, and there they were!”  
Rose frowned, at this point utterly confused and in disbelief. “What? — how? —”  
“Manna,” Mother cooed, picking up a loaf of bread and examining it as if it were a piece of fine jewelry. _“ ‘I will rain bread from heaven for you…’ ”_

“Oh, do be reasonable, Mother,” Rose said. “You can’t honestly believe this bread fell from heaven. Someone kind soul must have stumbled upon us during the night and had mercy on our situation…the Indians? Whoever it was, what a shame they left us before we had the chance to ask for directions.”  
“Rose, how can you not see?” Mother asked, her eyes beginning to water. “God is looking out for us, just as he looked out for the Israelites in the desert— he’s sent us a very clear message with this bread.”  
Perhaps it was the fact that she had been let down too many times, or that she was a naturally skeptical person by nature, but Rose wasn’t buying it. However, she was hardly in the mood to argue the matter; good food had been brought unto them, and no matter by what means, she was grateful for it.   
The family was in high spirits as they ate the bread and honey. They consumed a whole loaf in that one sitting, for it had been days since they’d eaten. Afterwards, Mother constructed a large sack out of her petticoat to carry the remaining seven loaves. 

*

“Timothy, I think it’s time.”  
Four days after awaking to the miracle bread Mother announced that the baby would soon arrive. Unfortunately they were still wandering in the middle of no where.  
“Oh, Lucy,” Father murmured nervously.   
Knowing full well that the odds of finding a town, let alone a midwife by the time Mother went into labor were virtually nonexistent, Rose began to mentally prepare herself to assist her with the birth. Yes, she thought, it would ultimately come down to her and Father to help deliver the baby, out here in the godforsaken wilderness.  
_I don’t know if you’re there, God,_ she thought. _But please help me._   
Father, acknowledging that Mother would inevitably have to give birth in their current situation, halted the family’s travel and made camp next to a large lake. They would remain there until Mother had the chance to deliver and recover, he said, using the lake water for their needs.   
He made her a bed of leaves and the shirt off his back  
“Are you feeling all right?” he asked.  
“As well as can be expected,” Mother replied, managing to give him a small smile.   
Several hours passed, and Mother said she felt the time was drawing closer and closer — she could feel it, she explained.   
Later that afternoon while Rose was off in a nearby thicket collecting firewood she heard the familiar sound of hoofbeats; these, however, seemed to be traveling at a much slower rate than the ones she’d previously heard. Not wanting to miss another opportunity, she immediately set down everything she was holding and ran up the hill to see who was coming.   
What she saw was not an Indian, but an old man with thick white hair and a curled mustache. He wore a cowboy hat and had a rifle on his back, and was slightly heavyset. He looked friendly enough, so Rose approached him.  
He stopped his horse when he saw her and said cheerfully, “H’llo there, miss!”  
“Um…hello,” she said awkwardly. “I was wondering, is there a town nearby? My family and I are lost.” Boy, what an understatement, she thought. If he had any idea…  
At this he looked concerned, and dismounted his horse.   
“You guys all right?” he asked.   
“Actually, no,” Rose admitted. “We were with a Mormon handcart company but got separated from them a few weeks ago. We’ve been surviving off the land, but my mother is due to give birth any time now, and we really need a doctor.”  
His eyes doubled in size. _“Three weeks? Pregnant?_ Lord o’ mercy…Yeah, there’s a town about a day to the northwest of here — in fact, that’s where I’m headed now. Just on my way back visiting my ma in Omaha. Say, you from across the pond? Couldn’t help but notice the accent.”  
“Yes, we’re from England. Where are we? What is this place?”  
“Nebraska.”  
This meant nothing to Rose, so she inquired further, explaining where they had started out and where they were intending to go.  
He chuckled sardonically. “Oh dear, little lass, you ain’t anywhere near Utah Territory. I reckon, at the rate you’ve been going, you might reach it by the end of winter.”  
Rose hung her head.  
“But hey, I’d be more than happy to lead you into town and assist with your ma any way I can. I’m not in a rush.”  
A rush of relief filled Rose as she realized they were saved. “Oh, thank you, sir! We need all the help we can get. If you could show us the way to town that would be wonderful.”   
“Sounds like your ma won’t be making the journey in time to deliver,” he said, and Rose shook her head no.  
“No. She could have the baby any moment now — there’s no way we’d make it in time.”  
“Hop up and show me where your folks are at. I’ll see what I can do.”  
He helped Rose climb on to the horse and they went back down the lake where the family was camped. Their eyes widened as Rose and the old man came into view.  
“Hey there,” he said, tipping his hat to them.  
“Mother, Father, this is Mr…” Rose began to introduce the man, but blushed with embarrassment as she realized she hadn’t even gotten his name, nor given him hers.  
“Tucker,” the man finished, smiling. “Elijah Tucker.”  
“I’m Rose Peabody, and this is my mother, father, brother Maxwell, and sister Fanny.”  
“Sounds like you folks have gotten yourselves into a spot of trouble,” Mr. Tucker said, walking over to Mother and Father.   
“To say the least,” Father said. “Oh, dear God, you have no idea how grateful we are to have found you.”  
“As soon as your lovely wife here has her baby I’ll take you into town,” Mr. Tucker said. “And speaking of which, I’ve got a blanket you can use for the kid. Anyway, if we start off in the morning, rest for the night, and get on early the next day, we should be there by noon.”  
“So where exactly is it?” Maxwell asked.  
“If you go up over this hill,” Mr. Tucker explained, pointing up, “and start heading northwest — there’s a reddish mountain that way, you can’t miss it — you’ll eventually come to a river leading down the other side of the mountain. Follow this river for about a day and it will eventually lead you to a valley where there’s a small town. It’s not huge, but we’ve got a good doctor and a bed and breakfast. You can stay there until you’re able to make other arrangements.”  
Even though Mother was giving birth in the middle of a forest, nobody could help but feel overjoyed.   
_If we can just make it past this one last obstacle…_ Rose thought.  
No one could fall asleep that night, for they were all anxious about Mother. Rose quietly approached Father and asked him if he would need her help with the birth.  
“No, I suppose I’ll be able to manage quite nicely,” Father assured her. “I’ve been through this with her three times before — I’m sure I’ve got the basic idea down.”  
But she couldn’t help but notice the fear in his eyes.  
“I…I’m sorry for everything I said that other night,” she added before walking off. “I just…”  
“It’s understandable, dear. As I said, it’s often quite difficult to have faith, especially in trying times.”  
Rose nodded, and went to go lay down on her patch of leaves.  
She watched the fire burn in the dark, embers flying off it like little bugs escaping the heat. It suddenly occurred to her just how much God had blessed her family these past few days, and how little she actually deserved it. Surely, she thought, God caused that bread to be left for the rest of her family, not her; surely God had led Mr. Tucker to them, not for her sake, but for that of the others.   
_Or maybe,_ she wondered, _it wasn’t the doing of God. Maybe it was just plain old coincidence, all of it._  
But the more she thought about it, the more she thought their luck had to be something more than a coincidence. The timing of it all was just too perfect. Right when they were at their most desperate, right when they were being faced with no choice but to give up — _that’s_ when the flood of blessings came, and Rose found it too good to be the product of anything less than divine intervention.   
Then again, who really knew? she thought, silently groaning in frustration.   
Somehow, at some point, the glowing fire became blurred in her vision until it was completely gone; she unwillingly shut off her brain and slipped out of consciousness.

*

What happened next seemed to be a dream.  
Rose begged herself to wake up from it, clawing at her skin and wracking her brain, but to no avail.   
_This can’t be real,_ she thought, her heart pounding. _No, no, no, WAKE UP!_   
People screamed and cried around her. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion: Mother laying on the ground, sobbing, but not moving; Fanny crying and Maxwell shouting, “No!” over and over again. Father held Mother, tears streaming down his face. Mr. Tucker attempted to comfort the children while Father took care of Mother.  
“Rose, honey, are you okay?” Mr. Tucker asked, holding Fanny in one arm and reaching his other out to Rose.   
Though Rose had only been awake for a matter of seconds, it had already registered with her what was going on.   
“Why did he let this HAPPEN?” she screamed. “My parents…so faithful…it’s not fair!”  
Somehow she found the strength to crawl over to Mother, who had the most devastated look on her face Rose had ever seen.   
“Rose, darling,” Mother said when she saw her, and pulled her to her chest.  
“I’m sorry,” Rose sobbed, choking through her tears. “This shouldn’t have happened.”  
Time stood still as she lied next to Mother, only vaguely aware of what the others were doing.   
Her body shook with cold and sorrow, as did Mother’s. Rose wished again, almost childishly, that this was a nightmare she would soon wake up from.  
No…  
But she did experience a sort of nightmare in the form of a memory — a memory she had kept stashed away in the very depths of her mind until now. The words suddenly came back to her with a force that caused her heart to drop and her stomach to feel sick… _‘A ruptured seed will be the climax of their sorrows…’_  
It wasn’t until Rose watched her Father tearfully take a bundle of blankets from Mother’s arms, dig a hole in the ground by the light of the fire, and gently place the bundle inside, did she ever imagine those prophetic words she’d read months ago could actually come to pass.  
But by that point, she didn’t need to imagine it. 

*

Between her grief and her physical pain, Mother couldn’t bring herself to move for an additional three days.   
Sometime during the night of the birth, Mr. Tucker had slipped away without so much as a goodbye. Nobody had seen him go off, but once they actually thought to look, realized he was no where to be found.  
Father suspected it had to do with the baby.  
“He was there, helping me,” Father said somberly. “He did a great job, Tucker — handled it fantastically — but I can’t help but wonder if he partially blames himself. Nonsense, of course. The baby was already gone by the time we delivered him.”  
All that was left of the baby, which Mother had affectionately named Aeden Timothy, was left in the tiny grave next to the lake and burned out fire. Before he was buried, Mother and Father gave each of the children a chance to hold their tiny brother for the first and only time.   
Eventually the family found the strength to start up their journey once again. Though Mr. Tucker was no longer there to guide them, Rose felt confident they could find their way to town based on the directions he had given them.  
As soon as they came on top of the hill they saw the reddish mountain he had described off in the distance.  
“We’re going to be okay,” Father said, gazing at it with a sort of appreciative fondness.  
And for the first time, Rose truly believed it.


	13. Part 3 (February 20, 1858)

The Peabodys had followed Mr. Tucker’s directions and eventually found themselves in the quaint little village of Harpington. After having mother assessed by the local doctor and taking a few days to rest up, Father made arrangements for the family to travel the rest of the way to Salt Lake via train and stagecoach. They finally arrived in Zion in early December.  
The Bamblin handcart company rolled into the valley six weeks later. As it turned out, after the storm that had separated them from the Peabodys, the rest of the company _had_ come back to look for the family, but couldn’t find them, and assumed they were drowned. Ten members of the company had died of typhus along the way, and as the Peabodys were saddened to learn, the Scotts were among them.   
Now, nearly three months after arriving in Salt Lake, the Peabodys were peacefully settled into their new home, eager to put the heartache of the previous year behind them. Mother kept busy with her Relief Society group, and Father had been called as the ward clerk, in addition to landing a job with the MACUSA Department of Magical Law Enforcement; he commuted to Washington each day via floo powder, and was typically gone from dawn until dusk.   
Life here, it turned out, was quite different than it was in London, New York, or anywhere else Rose had been. The community worked together in just about everything they did, often sharing food and ministering to each other. At least once a week somebody from the ward would drop in to see how the family was doing, and Mother and Father would do the same to other families. As much as Rose was struggling to accept the local faith, she did appreciate the strong sense of community in Salt Lake.  
Mountains surrounded them on either side, and the city itself was arranged in a grid pattern, with each block containing eight lots, one and a quarter acres in size. Each lot contained a small farm and gardens — none of which were active at the time, as snow still covered the ground. Streets were wide, which made wagon travel easier.   
The Peabodys’ house was furnished with smooth, hardwood floors, cream-colored carpets, and elegant furniture. Like their home in London, this house was large enough for each of the children to have their own room, and even had a guest bedroom to spare. Rose chose her bedroom for its view looking out over the west end of the valley and out towards the Great Salt Lake.  
As far as they knew, there was only one other wizarding family in the city. The Davises, also from England, had been in the valley for five years. They had two children: a boy named Wyston, Rose’s age, and a girl named Klea, nine years old. MACUSA, after receiving the Peabodys’ records of their move, had sent them an owl informing them of the other wizards in the area. They then went to introduce themselves, and quickly became friends.  
Wyston had never been to school before, as his mother preferred to teach him at home.   
“There are just so many bad influences out there,” Mrs. Davis had explained to the Peabodys. “At least here I’m able to educate him in spiritual matters in addiction to magical ones.”  
But in private, Wyston had confessed to Rose and Maxwell that he hated being homeschooled and wished to attend Ilvermorny with other wizarding youth from around the country.  
“Mother just sent in our papers the other day,” Rose had told him. “Maxwell and I will be going there at the start of the new school year. Perhaps if you told your mother this…that there would be people you’d know there…”  
“I could try,” Wyston said. “Don’t think that would convince her, though. All that ‘worldly devil influence’ stuff, you know…”  
The Davises — especially Mrs. Davis — were deeply religious, even more so than the Peabodys, and highly protective of their children. Mrs. Davis believed that attending a boarding school full of non-Mormon youth could cause Wyston to fall into sin and temptation. It was better, she said, for him to stay home during his formative years where he could be surrounded by like-minded people of faith.  
Wyston had had what he called a “secret spot” on the outskirts of town, hidden deep in a little wooded area. It led to a steep drop-off that one could easily trip over if they weren’t being careful of where they were going. At the bottom was an area concealed by overgrown grass. It was big enough that Rose, Wyston, and Maxwell could all sit around comfortably, but small enough not to be noticed by the casual passerby. They came here often to escape the constant eye of their parents.   
One day, while sitting in the secret spot eating sweets, Rose told Maxwell and Wyston about her faith struggles — something she had not explained to them in full until now. She even went so far as to admit she thought her parents were wrong for bringing them to America.  
“I still wish we were back home,” she sighed. “I’m sure if I had a true testimony of the church it would be different, but…”  
“Yeah, I get that,” Wyston muttered, drawing stick figures in the dirt.  
Wyston too was having doubts about God and the church. It didn’t help that his parents absolutely refused to listen to even the slightest smattering of what they deemed “anti-Mormon rhetoric.” While Rose was certain her parents would be much more open minded to questioning, she still couldn’t bring herself to share her true feelings with them, especially after her outburst on the trail; since then she’d done everything possible to convince her family she didn’t really mean those things she’d said, and that she really did have faith. This was a lie, of course, but she figured it was easier than trying to explain to them what was actually going on insider her head. And besides, she still found herself wondering about the mysterious bread that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere — if there was one thing they’d experienced along their journey that had given her real hope about God, it was that. She clung to it, but remained healthily skeptical.  
The problem with her family, Rose thought, was that they didn’t have a hard time believing in that which was not seen — _faith,_ as they called it; they didn’t require an explanation for every inconsistency, every little detail that didn’t make sense, about the scriptures; they didn’t find it odd that as much as people spoke about _feeling_ God, nobody had ever been able to provide proof that he actually existed. Other people might have been able to let these worries slide, to push them out of their minds for the sake of feeling good, but Rose couldn’t. It wasn’t simply a matter of wanting to belong to a religion — it was at its core, she thought, her salvation on the line. Perhaps God _did_ exist, but he would damn her and her family to hell for following a false church; or maybe he wasn’t the God of the Bible, or a man at all. These were the curiosities that kept her awake at night. If there _was_ a God, she thought, she best come to find out the truth about him soon, and very soon. What would happen if she died ignorant? These were the thoughts that fueled her nightmares.  
She continued to attend church meetings, but only for the sake of appearances. She sat beside her family on the pew bench, dressed in her Sunday best, and sung along to “The Spirit of God”, trying desperately hard to blend in. The words rung hollow in her ears, as if she wasn’t actually there; she could hear the music, but it gave off the echo of originating in a place far away.   
One day after church Wyston pulled Rose aside and said to her very quietly, “Can you meet me in the secret spot? Tonight, after supper? It’s important.”  
Perplexed though she was, Rose agreed.  
“Oh, and Rose,” Wyston added before she turned to walk back to her family. “Make sure you come alone.”  
Rose gave a small joking laugh. “Is there something you don’t want my brother to hear?”  
But Wyston didn’t look amused. He almost looked worried.  
“Er…it’s just better this way,” he said.

 

*

True to her word, Rose came to the secret spot as soon as her family had finished eating dinner. She found Wyston already there, sitting crouched in his usual place behind the tallest clump of grass.  
“Hey,” he said.  
“What’s wrong?” Rose asked, frowning. “You seemed…nervous…earlier today.”  
Wyston shifted his gaze uncomfortably and contorted his face into a sort of apologetic half-smile. “I’m leaving, Rose.”  
_Good for you,_ Rose thought, and asked, “Where are you lot heading, then?”   
“No, you misunderstood me. _I’m_ leaving. The rest of my family isn’t going anywhere.”  
Rose stared at him blankly for a few seconds, and then it dawned on her. “Oh, Wyston, your mother agreed to let you go to school!”  
But he shook his head. “Nope. Still hasn’t. And that’s why I’m outta here — I can’t live like this anymore! I’m tired of being under my ma’s Mormon thumb.”  
“You mean you’re _running away?”_  
“Yep. As soon as I’ve got enough money saved. Old Mr. Vecks gave me a job cleaning out his stables for fifty cents a week. I figure I’ll hitch a ride to California to go live with my uncle. I know _he’d_ let me go to school, and I doubt he’d tell my folks I was there.”  
“Wyston, you can’t do that!” Rose exclaimed. “How could you just run off and not tell your family where you are? Don’t you care that they’d be worried sick?”  
“I’d write to them eventually, just to let them know I’m all right. But Rose, I would have expected you of all people to understand why I have to get out of this place.”  
The truth was, Rose understood it very well. Though leaving home at fourteen wasn’t something she could bring herself to do, she sympathized with Wyston’s plight.  
“I really think you should reconsider,” she told him. “But I guess you’ve got to do what you think is best.”  
“Yeah. Promise me you won’t tell anyone, though.”   
Rose bit her lip, but promised.   
“I’ll probably be here a few weeks longer at the most,” Wyston said. “But don’t worry, I won’t leave without saying goodbye.”


	14. Chapter 14

After the shock of hearing Wyston’s plan had worn off, Rose’s worry for him turned to envy. She wished so badly to go along with him, if only for the sake of leaving the city. She made up her mind that as soon as she graduated from school, she would move out of her parents’ home to start a new life elsewhere — somewhere free from the overburdening influence of religion. Often she fantasized about returning to Hogwarts to work as a professor, writing spellbooks in her spare time.   
One day, about a week after telling Rose of his escape plan, Wyston owled her, asking her to meet him in the secret spot, alone again. Thinking that perhaps he had changed his mind about running away, Rose eagerly agreed to meet him there the following morning.  
However, she found him there looking even more worried than he had the last time.   
“Oh dear,” she murmured. “What’s wrong?”  
“I found something yesterday,” he said gravely, his eyes filled with terror. “You gotta come see this.”   
Anxious about what he might show her, yet deeply curious, Rose followed Wyston down the trail further into the woods. He cut off to the right and slowly made his way down into an empty ditch. They followed it for about thirty feet before Wyston stopped abruptly in front of a large clump of weeds.  
“In there,” he said quietly, nodding towards it.  
“Do I even want to…?” Rose asked nervously.  
Wyston swallowed. “Yeah, just go on.”  
Cautiously, Rose pushed aside the grass to reveal the lifeless body of a baby elf. It was pale, with long, bat-like ears, and appeared to have died fairly recently. It wore a dirty blue sack covered in holes.   
Rose’s throat swelled and she choked back tears. Even the cruelest of owners had the decency to bury their house elves in proper graves. “Why would anybody do this?”  
“My question is, _who_ did it.” Wyston muttered, looking upset. “We’re the only magical families in the area, and neither of us have house elves. It’s possible a witch or wizard passed through the area and we just weren’t aware of it…but I’ve got other ideas.”  
“What do you mean?”  
Wyston sighed, looking slightly guilty. “I didn’t say anything to anyone because I thought it wasn’t a big deal, but last month I saw a woman walking down our street and I could’a _swore_ I saw her levitate her pocket watch to check the time.”  
“Did she use a wand?”  
“Nope. It was hanging around her neck, and all of sudden it just rose up to her face. She didn’t even touch it.”  
“Did it seem like anyone else noticed this?  
“No,” Wyston replied. “It was pretty early in the morning, and not too many people were out.”  
Rose frowned. “I don’t understand. What does this have to do with the elf? Do you think it could have been hers?”  
“Yeah, but it’s more than that. If a witch or wizard moves into an area, MACUSA will notify other wizards in the area of their arrival. From the time I saw that woman to finding this elf yesterday has been several weeks, and we haven’t received a word from anyone of her presence.”  
Still not understanding what he was getting at, Rose inquired further.  
“I don’t think she lives here, Rose,” Wyston explained. “She’s obviously just been hanging around this past month, and I have no idea why, but I’ve got the feeling it isn’t for anything good.”  
But Rose couldn’t take him seriously. “Don’t you think you may be jumping to conclusions?”  
Wyston stared at her blankly. “About what?”  
“Well,” Rose began carefully, “your eyes could have just been playing tricks on you that morning you saw the woman on your street — you have no _proof_ of anything. Even if she is a witch, so what? Perhaps she’s here visiting a no-maj relative, or simply wants to check out the city — we’re a unique community, you know. Why the far-fetched assumptions?”  
“I don’t know,” Wyston admitted. “A gut feeling, I guess.”  
“And besides, this house elf could have belonged to anyone,” Rose reasoned. “You never know when a wizard could be passing through.”  
“You’re probably right. I just can’t shake this feeling that something sinister is going on, though. I can’t honestly believe a wizard could be here for that long and not discover either or our families — maybe she’s _trying_ to lay low.”  
Rose acknowledged his assessment with a nod, but offered no words of accord.   
“If nothing else,” Wyston sighed, looking down at the pitiful state of the little elf, “this right here shows me the kind of witch she is. If that doesn’t give you cause for concern, then, well…”  
“Remember, you can’t be sure it was hers.”  
“No, but you can tell this elf hasn’t been dead for long, and I find it highly unlikely that another wizard has been in the area so recently. That witch I saw is probably still around — she’s got to be.”  
And with that Rose couldn’t disagree.  
“You know something, Rose? I’ve changed my mind about running away — at least for now. I kinda wanna stick around and see what, if anything, becomes of this whole thing.”  
Rose laughed. “You’ve been reading too many mystery books.”  
Wyston rolled his eyes, but smiled slyly. 

*

Neither Rose nor Wyston told their families about the dead house elf or the witch — until one day in April when each of their homes received an unexpected visit from a pair of Aurors.  
The Peabodys had just sat down to eat dinner when two people, dressed in robes embroidered with a MACUSA seal, emerged from the kitchen fireplace. One of them was tall with wavy brown hair, and looked to be in his thirties; the other was significantly older with round spectacles and wispy gray hair tucked behind his cowboy hat. They introduced themselves to Mother and asked if they could come in for a quick word. Rose could tell Mother was not pleased about it, but could sense the urgency in their visit, so she obliged.  
They immediately recognized Father, who also worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.   
“Urgent news from the Auror Office, Timothy,” said the younger one, who had introduced himself as Auror Slade. “Hate to intrude on your supper like this, but it couldn’t wait.”   
Mother smiled nervously at her children and gently ordered them up to their rooms.  
All three of them went without protest, but stopped where the top of the stairs met the second floor landing, and quietly strained to listen in on the adults’ conversation.  
“I take it you’ve all heard about that missing couple by now,” said the older man, called Auror Jeremiah.  
“Yes,” Mother gasped. “Back in January….Poor things. They were just recently married, neither of them could have been older than twenty-five — they were in our ward, you know.”  
There was a slight pause, and she added, “Our neighborhood church congregation.”  
One of the Aurors sighed, and Jeremiah said, “MACUSA’s now involved. To make a long story short, we have reason to believe their disappearance was magic related. The last few days we’ve been investigating traces of an unregistered wand being used about three blocks from here, and when we saw the local no-maj paper this morning that stated they went missing around that general area, we knew there was no way it could be a coincidence.”   
“Dear God,” Father said. “None of our wands are unregistered. Have you talked with John Davis and his family? Perhaps they’d know something.”  
“We were meaning to head there right after we stopped by your place,” Slade assured him. “We’ll keep you up to speed on what’s going on and be sure to notify you of any breakthroughs. But in the mean time, keep your eyes open for any suspicious activity, and don’t let your children out alone.”  
“We’ll do that,” Father agreed. “Thank you for letting us know.”  
After the Aurors said their goodbyes, Rose heard each one of them in turn exclaim, “JOHN AND MELINDA DAVIS RESIDENCE” before being drowned in a loud swoosh of flames.  
She knew she had to tell her parents about what she’d seen in the woods, and what Wyston had told her, but she didn’t want to admit to them that she’d been eavesdropping. She decided she would send Wyston an owl the next day, asking if he’d told his parents and the Aurors about it. If she hadn’t, she knew she would have no choice but to tell them herself. There were some things you just couldn’t keep secret, no matter how much trouble you might be in for speaking of them, she thought.  
“Gee,” Maxwell whispered to her as they walked to their bedrooms. “Sounds like there’s some fishy stuff going on around good old Salt Lake.”   
“Yeah,” Rose said glumly.  
She didn’t end up having to send Wyston a note, however, as the two families decided to get together for a picnic the next day. Rose suspected the idea had been conceived from a desire that had less to do with food and fun and more to do with an opportunity for gossip and speculation on current events. Sure enough, they had found an isolated spot in the park to lay out their blankets, instructing the children to go sit a reasonable distance away from them — far enough that their conversation could not be overheard.  
“What did you tell your folks?” Rose asked Wyston the second they were out of earshot. By this point, neither of them was attempting to conceal their secret from their little siblings, figuring they would inevitably hear about it anyway. “Did you tell them _anything?”_  
“Nah, but I’m going to,” Wyston said, taking a bite of fried chicken.  
“When?”  
“Maybe we could do it today. Here. Together.”  
“Do what?” asked Wyston’s younger sister Klea.   
And Rose and Wyston told Maxwell, Fanny, and Klea everything.  
Maxwell gave an impressed whistle. “This case’ll be solved thanks to you two!”  
“I’m not so sure, Max,” Rose said. “Finding the body of an elf and seeing — what Wyston _thought_ — was a woman doing magic on his street isn’t much to go on. There’s no way to tell if the two incidents are even related.”  
“I think we should go tell our parents right now,” Fanny suggested, looking very worried.   
Together, all five of the children made their way over to where their parents were sitting, and told them about the elf and the witch. When they finished, Father looked at Rose and Wyston sternly.  
“You should have told us about this earlier,” he said. “Or better yet, told the Aurors.”  
Wyston’s parents nodded in agreement and Mr. Davis said, “We’ll send an owl to MACUSA first thing when we get home. And you two —” he looked both Wyston and Klea in the eye in turn “—are, under _no_ circumstance to leave the house unaccompanied by either myself or your mother. And if you happen to see anything out of the ordinary, you will report it to us immediately.”  
“The same goes for our children,” Mother said, looking at Rose, Maxwell, and Fanny. Rose could tell by the look in her eyes that she was not fooling around.   
True to their word, the Peabody parents kept a close watch on their children from then on. Rose’s daily life consisted of chores, school lessons, and occasionally tending to Fanny while Mother was occupied with her Relief Society activities. The only time the children left the house was on Sundays for church, and Rose seldom saw Wyston aside from there.  
Father came home from work each day looking more and more stressed, but would not come out and say why. The only thing he told them was, “Lot going on these days”, but Rose had a dreaded suspicion that it had something to do with the case of the missing couple — and whatever it was they’d found out, it wasn’t good.  
One day, two weeks after their original visit, Auror Slade and Auror Jeremiah returned to the Peabody home. Once again, the children were sent to their rooms while Father and Mother conversed with them in hushed tones. As desperately as Rose and Maxwell tried to listen in, they couldn’t make out anything this time.   
Rose continued to study the scriptures, but her testimony felt dead, and it seemed she could do nothing to revive it. She wrote in her journal, _‘I don’t know for sure if God really exists, but if he does, I feel so cut off from him. No matter how hard I pray, no matter how deeply I try to take in the words spoken at church…none of it makes a difference. I can’t feel the spirit when I pray, and more often than not it feels as if I’m speaking to the wall. They’re always talking about this “unforgivable sin”, that is, denying the Holy Ghost. I’m starting to worry that maybe_ I’ve _inadvertently denied it by doubting and turning away from the church. I keep repeating the words spoken by Jesus on the cross: “my God, my God, why has thou forsaken me?”’_  
Whatever hope, whatever faith she’d gained after arriving safely in Salt Lake, had now vanished, and she was back to the point she’d been at on the trail — perhaps at an even lower point. However, as down as she felt, she didn’t cry as often these days, because she couldn’t muster enough emotion to cry. She felt positively numb inside, devoid of all feeling.  
_So this is what it feels like to be without the spirit,_ she often thought, before reminding herself that there was a very strong possibility the so-called “spirit” didn’t even exist.   
One Sunday morning Rose found the courage to tell her parents that she no longer wished to attend church with them. It wasn’t the fact they looked angry that bothered her, it was the sadness in their eyes that killed her. Even though _she_ didn’t believe in the church anymore, she knew _they_ still did, with all their hearts, and it must have been as painful for them to hear this from their daughter as it was for her to tell them.   
_‘I know I’m a disappointment to them,’_ she wrote that night. _‘Whatever I might achieve in my life…it will be for nothing if I am not living the gospel.’_  
What was worse, she knew that in their minds, she likely wouldn’t be with them in heaven if she rejected the church. When the rest of the family got home from church that afternoon she found Mother quietly sobbing in her bedchamber, clutching Rose’s baptism dress to her chest. Rose watched her for a moment, sick with guilt that _she_ was the cause of those tears, and tiptoed away before Mother realized she had seen.   
Rose found herself desperately awaiting September, when she and Maxwell would leave for Ilvermorny. Though she had begun to truly appreciate homeschooling she yearned to get away from Salt Lake and Mormon culture.   
Wyston hadn’t gone back on his decision to stay in town for the time being. In fact, he told Rose, he might just forget about the idea altogether; his uncle, who he had originally been planning on staying with, had apparently sent the Davises a letter informing them that he’d recently come down with a bad case of dragon pox, and though he’d come out of it alive, he was permanently scarred and crippled. A local healer had offered to take him in and care for him the rest of his days, but for a hefty fee — one Wyston’s uncle could not afford to pay. The Davises sent him some money, and Wyston, understandably, told Rose he couldn’t bring himself to burden his uncle with any more trouble after everything he’d gone through. So he would stay in Salt Lake with his family, and that was that.  
One afternoon, while Rose was practicing the piano, Fanny approached her and asked her why she didn’t go to church anymore.  
“Don’t you believe in Jesus?” Fanny asked, frowning.   
Rose, not knowing how she could possibly explain the depth of what she was going through to a six-year-old, simply replied, “One does not need to attend church to pay their respects to God.”  
Fanny seemed to accept this answer, but then continued, “Mother and Father are worried about you — especially Mother. She said so in her testimony the other week.”  
Taken aback by this, Rose inquired further. “She…what? What do you mean she mentioned me in her testimony? At _church?_ In front of the whole congregation?”  
Fanny nodded.   
“What exactly did she say?”  
Fanny scrunched up her eyes a bit, as though struggling to remember. “She said, ‘My daughter has fallen away, but I know that if I’ — pray hard enough, I think it was — ‘that her heart will be’ — softened? — ‘and she will regain the light she once had.’ ”  
As disappointed in her as Rose knew her parents were, nothing had prepared her for this. How could Mother have embarrassed her like that? Now the whole ward knew about the apostate Peabody daughter; she was surprised none of the Relief Society sisters had come around with a plate of cookies by now, asking to “speak” with her.   
Her mouth gone dry, Rose swallowed and said, “You tell Mother I’m sorry she feels that way. But I can’t go on pretending to believe in something I don’t. I’m not going back to church, Fanny, and that’s all there is to it.”  
Fanny gave her sister a sad look, and left the room.

*

That night, as Rose crept down the stairs to get a glass of water before bed, she overheard what sounded like her parents arguing below. Even though she knew she shouldn’t be, she was curious, and crouched down to listen.  
“…not my fault either, Lucy,” she heard Father say. “I’ve never claimed to be a saint, but you know as well as anybody that I am a man of God. And believe me, if it wasn’t for everything that’s been going on at work, I _would_ have accepted that calling. But I simply haven’t got the time for it right now.”  
“Her father as a bishop could be just what she needs,” Mother said, and Rose could tell that she was crying. “Imagine how much greater of an impact you could have on her…and the blessings our family would receive.”  
“If our daughter wants to throw away her salvation there’s not much I can do about that,” Father retorted, pain creeping into his voice. “We’ve tried to teach her; we’ve tried to instill our faith and values into her. But she’s becoming a young woman now, and as hard as it may be, we have to allow her to find her own way, even if that path will ultimately lead to her destruction.”  
Mother let out a soft wail.  
“I don’t like it any more than you do,” Father said, his voice now beginning to break. “But we can hardly _force_ her to believe, can we?”  
“I just never thought…my own child…”  
“I know,” Father croaked. “What happened to that good-natured, God-fearing little girl we had last summer?”  
“I feel like I don’t even know her anymore.”  
Rose had had enough. Forgetting about her water, she slowly tiptoed back upstairs and locked herself in her bedroom, falling the the ground in tears.   
_Why am I even alive?_ she thought hysterically. _I clearly do nothing but cause stress for my loved ones._   
She remained on the floor, unable to move. She muffled her sobs with the bottom of her nightgown, barely managing to breathe; she hadn’t gotten this upset in a long time.   
Her stomach lurched, and she quickly pulled out the bedpan from under her bed just in time for her to vomit into it. She miserably climbed on to her bed and curled up into a fetal position.  
_You’re nothing; you’re worthless,_ came a voice that blurred the line between Rose’s own thoughts and an external source.  
She slowly got off the bed and walked over to her dresser, above which hung a large mirror. She could hardly bear to look at her reflection, feeling disgusted with herself.  
_So ugly,_ she thought angrily, and picked up her hairbrush that was laying on the dresser. She jabbed the handle of the brush into the mirror, and it cracked in several places. One of the pieces fell off, and Rose picked it up, examining it carefully. She stared at the half of her face the shard showed, and ran her thumb along it’s sharp edges.   
Her heart began to beat rapidly, and she realized how easily it would be to end her life right there and then.   
_You shouldn’t have even been born. You’re ugly, stupid, and a disappointment to your parents. Just die! You know it will make everyone happier. And you’re going to hell anyway, so might as well speed up the process._  
She clutched the piece of glass and positioned it above her left wrist.  
_Do it._  
But in the end, she couldn’t bring herself to.  
_This is foolish,_ she thought, becoming irritated with herself. _There are better ways to do it, and besides, you owe your family a goodbye at the least._   
She put the broken piece of mirror down and slowly walked back to bed.


	15. Chapter 15

Things did not improve between Rose and her parents over the next several days. Apart from lessons, Mother hardly spoke a word to her, and Father would only ask, when he got home from work, “Have a good day, honey?” Even Maxwell and Fanny seemed to sense that something was off in the family, and were much quieter than usual.   
Rose desperately wanted to see Wyston, but as she was no longer going to church, had no other opportunity to. She’d suggested to Mother inviting the Davises over for dinner one night, but Mother seemed reluctant to do so. Deep down, Rose had a feeling she knew about Wyston’s ideas, and considered him a bad influence.   
But one day she couldn’t take it any more. She asked Mother if she would escort her to the Davis residence to say hello, and when Mother refused, Rose simply stormed out of the house.  
“Rose!” Mother called after her through the open door. “I don’t want you walking the streets alone. Get back in here now!”  
“It’s the middle of the day! I highly doubt I’ll be kidnapped with all these people out and about.”  
Mother caught up to Rose and grabbed her by the upper arm.  
“You listen to me, young lady,” she snarled. “You may believe differently than the rest of us — I do not approve of that, but I can’t change it. However, you will not disrespect me or your Father.”  
Rose scoffed. “Why not? It’s clear that _you_ don’t respect _me.”_  
And with that she furiously jerked away from her mother’s grasp and strode off at a rapid pace towards the Davises’ street.   
_Calm down,_ she told herself, wiping away tears of rage. _You don’t want Wyston to see you so upset._   
She knocked on their door, and Mrs. Davis answered, looking shocked to see her.  
“Rose,” she said. “Why aren’t you with your folks?”  
“They’re not feeling well,” Rose lied. “Mother said it couldn’t hurt for me to take a little stroll by myself. I would like to speak to Wyston, if that’s all right.”  
“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Davis said, welcoming her into the house. “In fact, he just finished up his charms lesson a few minutes ago — he’s probably upstairs putting away his wand and books. You can wait for him here in the parlor.”  
“Thank you.”  
When Wyston returned the two of them went to sit out in the front garden. Rose told him about the conversation of her parents’ she’d overheard — but not about what she had considered doing with that piece of glass. She made up her mind to never tell anybody about that.   
“I’m sorry,” Wyston sympathized. “I can’t talk to my folks about… _that_ thing, either. My mom, you know…”  
“Yes.”  
“In a way I envy you. I can’t even imagine how my mom and dad would react if I told them I didn’t want to go to church anymore — at least yours haven’t disowned you or anything.”  
“They might just as well have,” Rose snapped. “They’ve made it abundantly clear I’m their mistake child.”  
“Hopefully they’ll come around,” Wyston muttered, though he didn’t sound convinced at his own words.  
A little while later Mrs. Davis came out and asked Rose if she would like to stay for dinner, to which she eagerly obliged.   
She didn’t leave the Davises’ until well after six that night, and while she knew the hell she would face when she got home, she felt it was worth it — just to be able to get out and see Wyston, release some of her pent up feelings.   
It was a chilly evening, so Rose pulled her shawl tightly around her before she set off for home. Wyston’s parents had asked her if she would like them to walk her home, but she politely declined.   
Most people were in for the night, and the streets were fairly empty. Rose walked quickly, partly out of feeling unsafe, and partly due to wishing to just get home and get her punishment over with as soon as possible. Now that she had left the Davises’, and reality had started to sink in, she felt anxious about how her parents would treat her after her outburst.   
She had nearly reached the end of the block to turn on to her street when she felt someone tap on her shoulder. Suppressing a scream, she whipped around to see a short woman dressed in black; this woman wore a veil, so Rose couldn’t make out her face. She assumed she was headed to a funeral, or perhaps had just left one.  
“Can I help you?” Rose stammered.   
The woman did not respond, but lifted her veil just high enough to reveal her mouth. A grin spread across her lips — not a friendly grin, but a sinister one.   
“Your days are numbered,” she hissed, and quickly put her veil back down.  
Flabbergasted, Rose gasped, “W-what?!”  
The woman turned and walked the opposite direction, but Rose was too dumbfounded by shock to follow her. When she finally regained her composure, she ran as fast as she could to her house, not stopping to catch her breath until she got there. 

*

“I’m going to headquarters,” Father said, pulling on a thick overcoat. “It can’t wait until the morning — the Auror Office needs to be made aware of this immediately.”  
Rose had told her parents about the woman as soon as she’d gotten home, proposing the theory that this woman could be the same one Wyston saw out his window. They agreed that it was possible, even likely.  
“Hold on a minute,” Rose said, just before Father had stepped into the fireplace. It hadn’t occurred to her that Wyston had never given them a detailed description of the woman — was she old or young? Tall or short? What was her hair color? Rose hadn’t picked up on much, but if she could match just one detail with Wyston, such as the woman’s height, it would be something. Upon pointing this out to her family, they decided it best to hurry over to the Davises’ and ask him.   
As it turned out, Wyston couldn’t remember a lot about the woman either. (“I was looking at her from a distance”, he reminded them.) However, he did mention that she appeared to be smaller than average, something Rose recalled quite distinctly about the woman she’d seen that evening.   
“It sounds like there’s a good chance Wyston and Rose encountered the same person,” Mr. Davis said. “My gut is telling me this whole thing is connected — the witch outside Wyston’s window, the dead house elf, and the woman Rose just saw.”  
“I have to agree,” Father said grimly. “And now it’s crossed the line from a series of odd occurrences to a genuine threat.”  
“I don’t mean to undermine the severity of the situation,” Mother interjected. “But do you think it’s possible that this could all be a misunderstanding of some sort? Perhaps what this woman said to Rose tonight…Is there any chance she could have mistaken her for somebody else? Somebody she’s after?”  
The others paused for a moment, looking as though they were considering it carefully. Rose sincerely hoped her mother was right.  
“It’s possible,” Mr. Davis. “But not likely. I think she either purposely targeted Rose randomly, or, for what reason I can’t begin to imagine, is out to get your family. Whatever it is, we’ve got to get to the bottom of it, and fast, before this crazy hag actually hurts someone.”  
The Peabodys went home, and Father headed to the office, not returning until well after the rest of the family went to bed.   
Rose lay awake that night, too terrified to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she saw that twisted, evil smile. Who was this witch, and what could she possibly want with Rose? 

*

Mother didn’t say anything about Rose’s outburst, but kept her and her siblings on an even stricter watch in the following days. She seemed on edge the entire time Father was away at work, and frequently peered out the curtained windows; she had put a protection charm on the door, and didn’t even venture out during the day to go to Relief Society meetings.   
Rose’s depression grew worse. She was in a constant state of anxiety, caught between worries of both the temporal and the spiritual. The thought of a potentially homicidal stalker had brought the idea of death closer to home for Rose. If the unthinkable were to happen and she or her family were to die that day, would they be saved? Was there even an afterlife at all? When she was not busy with school lessons she spent her time absorbed in the scriptures, hoping to reach a spiritual epiphany — but still, she felt nothing.   
One morning, just after breakfast, Mother called Rose downstairs. She went down to find the Davis family standing in the kitchen, each of them pale as a ghost.   
“Rose,” said Mother, who had her arm around Mrs. Davis, “Wyston’s been missing since last night. Do you have any idea where he could have gone?”  
_So he’s finally done it,_ Rose thought bitterly. Though she was glad he’d escaped the life that made him so miserable, she was deeply hurt that he hadn’t even said goodbye — to her, or his family, it seemed.   
_And to think I actually thought he cared about me._  
Out of spite, she let loose the secret. “I don’t know where he’s gone, but I know he was planning on running away — he told me about it weeks ago. He was originally going to go stay with his uncle in California, but said that after he’d fallen ill, he decided it would be best to not burden him further. So I’m not sure what his alternative plan was.”  
Mrs. Davis broke down in tears.  
“I’m sorry,” Rose said sincerely. “I should have told you, but I didn’t think he’d actually do it.”  
“It’s okay, Rose,” Mr. Davis said, walking over to comfort his wife. “We’ll find him — he can’t be too far.”  
“Perhaps we should call a ward meeting,” Mother suggested. “With that many people out looking for him, I’m sure he’ll be found in no time.”  
The Peabodys and Davises spent the remainder of the morning rounding up people in the neighborhood to join the search party. They were out looking for most of the day, and between all of them covered the entire city as well as the surrounding area. However, even with the efforts of seventy-five people, they found no sign of Wyston.  
Rose knew, deep down, that he was long gone, and imagined that everyone else was aware of this too. None of them could bear to proclaim it out loud, however.   
“Young ones that age want to spread their wings,” Mother whispered gently to Mrs. Davis before heading home for the night. “You wait and see, once he realizes how tough it is out there he’ll be back home in no time.”  
Rose overheard this, but seriously doubted Wyston would be back, at least not permanently. She knew how much he hated Salt Lake.  
_The only real friend I had here…and now he’s gone,_ she thought. 

*

Without Wyston to confide in, Rose began to feel even more hopeless. Her day to day life carried on an usual, and though she searched desperately for spiritual guidance, nothing came.  
One evening in May, while she was getting ready for bed, Rose heard something hit her window. It sounded like a small rock hitting the glass. She curiously opened the blinds and peered out into the dimming dusk light, but couldn’t see anything.  
Dismissing the sound, she unbraided her hair put on her nightgown. Before getting into bed she — somewhat reluctantly — kneeled to pray.   
_Just let me know that you’re there,_ she thought. _I_ want _to know you. I may not believe in the church anymore, but —_   
Rose’s window was hit again, this time more forcefully.   
Surprised that the glass hadn’t shattered, and annoyed that anybody would be playing tricks with her at this time of night, she got up and walked back over to the window. 

_Right,_ she thought angrily. _I’ll show them…_  
But when she flung open the curtains and looked down into the garden below, she immediately noticed the source of the noise, and her heart skipped a beat. It was Wyston, standing almost directly underneath her window, holding a handful of pebbles.  
“Wyston!” Rose exclaimed, but he frowned and put a finger to his lips, as though attempting to silence her. She quietly opened the window and, lowering her voice, asked, “What are you doing here? Where have you been?”  
“I’ll explain everything,” Wyston said in a rush. “But I need to see you outside. Are your folks asleep?”  
“Yes. I’ll be right there.”  
She shut the window, threw on a shawl and a pair of night slippers, and quietly tiptoed downstairs and out the front door, taking a lantern with her.  
Relieved as she was that Wyston had returned, her heart sunk when she saw the worried look in his eyes — something had happened, and that’s why he was back. She already knew it, before he’d even said a word, as she’d seen this look before, and it never meant anything good.  
“We need to talk,” he told her, his voice trembling.  
“Indeed we do,” Rose replied, too nervous to be angry with him.  
He beckoned for her to follow him around to the back of the house and behind the shed.   
“What’s going on?” Rose asked.  
Tears ran down his cheeks and his mouth shook, as though he wanted to speak, but couldn’t. It was as if a lock had been placed on his tongue, keeping him from saying whatever it was he needed to.  
Finally he whispered, “I’m sorry, Rose.”  
Before she could react she felt somebody grab her from behind, completely restraining her arms. She tried to scream, but a cloth was squeezed over her mouth. Within a matter of seconds she could no longer feel her legs, and was completely helpless, unable to do anything to save herself. The last thing she saw before blacking out was Wyston also on the ground — not trapped as she was, but crying hysterically.


	16. Chapter 16

When Rose opened her eyes it was morning. She was neither in her bedroom, nor in her backyard, but staring up at the tops of trees. As she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and got a clearer view of her surroundings she realized she was in the woods near her home — the woods she and Wyston frequently visited.   
It took her a moment, but eventually she remembered the events of the previous night, and wondered why her captor had brought her here. In fact, she thought, she hadn’t even seen who this person was.   
Her arms and legs were no longer tied, and she was able to stand up. She glanced around her but couldn’t see anyone, and the only sounds she could make out were the chirping of birds and the soft rustling of the trees.   
“W-Wyston?” she called out nervously.   
The reality of the danger she had been in the night before began to sink in, and she hurriedly started to make her way out of the woods. She couldn’t even bear to think of the possibilities — what this person, or people could have wanted with her. She also wondered if her parents had awoken yet and found her missing. Were they out searching? And Wyston…was he safe? Or had this person managed to get away with him?  
Terrified, she began to cry.   
_I’ve got to get home and tell my parents,_ she thought repeatedly. _Wyston could be in serious trouble._   
She had just about made it out of the woods and on to the path clearing when she heard a voice call from behind her: “Where do you think you’re going?”  
Her heart stopped, and in the fraction of a second it took for her to turn around, a startling realization hit her: this voice sounded terribly familiar. It was one she hadn’t heard in close to a year, but could not mistake.   
A small, elderly woman in long, hooded witch’s robes stood next to a tree a short distance away. Her hands hung clasped, and she wore a cruel grin. At her feet was a folded patchwork quilt with a variety of different designs.   
Thinking that this had to be some bizarre dream, Rose blinked several times, groaning.  
_Wake up,_ she urged herself, but the scene did not change.  
Ruth started forward, and Rose, too shocked to move, stood still.   
“Yes,” the robed witch said quietly. “It’s me. Thought you’d seen the last of old Ruth last August when you decided to up and leave her, didn’t you?”  
Rose had never been more confused in her life. Barely managing to speak, she stuttered, “Ruth’s d-dead.”  
“No, child,” the witch whispered, that sinister smile spreading across her lips. “I didn’t die; I simply managed to _convince_ you fools that I had.”  
Rose frowned, and Ruth continued, “Once it became clear that you were actually going to abandon me — leave me for that filthy Muggle church — I lost hope; I became depressed. For a few days I did consider taking my own life. But then I realized, what for? What good would it do anyone? I knew I wasn’t going to be able to change your minds about going, but I also couldn’t bring myself to just let you live in peace after that. I’m a very vengeful person, you see.  
“So I faked my death, figuring I could best go about my intended plan if you all believed I was completely out of the picture. I put on some makeup, took a potion to silence my heartbeat, and the next thing I know you and your mother are in my bedroom crying your eyes out. _‘Poor Ruth is dead!’_ Ha! — ” she struck Rose across the face, causing her to fall backwards, whimpering in pain “ — as if you actually cared about me! The undertaker came and took me away, but little did he know I had a few tricks — and a wand — up my sleeve. As soon as my coffin was closed at the funeral home, I Apparated out of it. I’m sure you don’t recall seeing my body after that point, do you, child?”  
Thinking back, Rose realized she didn’t. The coffin had been closed at the funeral, and the last time she saw Ruth was when her body had been removed from the house. As crazy as it seemed, it would have certainly been possible for Ruth to avoid going into her grave undetected.  
“I waited,” Ruth said, “and hid amongst the shadows until the day came that you left England. I followed you, you know, onto the ship.”  
“Why?” Rose asked, because she did not know what else to say.   
“Why? To come after you, of course! As I said, Rose, I am a vengeful person — one does not wrong me in such a manner as grievous as your family did and get away with it. I was determined to make your lives a living hell.  
“I found an isolated corner of the ship, and hid there the entire journey. I would only come out into the open for food, always concealing my face when doing so. To this day I can hardly believe I managed to survive two months aboard a cramped ship with so many Muggles.  
“Once you arrived in New York, I followed you too. I followed you down to Prompixa, to the train station, and to Iowa City. From there, I followed behind your company on the trail, never letting your family out of my sight.”  
Rose’s head spun, and she felt dizzy at the thought of these new revelations.   
Ruth cackled. “I suppose you remember that dreadful storm? Well, let’s just say, I _might_ have had a little something to do with that.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“A kind gentleman I met back in the city had captured a Thunderbird from out west. With a bit of negotiating and exchange of coins, he turned it over to me. All I needed to do was turn it loose over your company while you were attempting to cross the water, and I knew it would generate a large enough storm to permanently separate you from the rest of the group, if not drown you.  
“I was successful in isolating you from the rest of the company. I thought that perhaps my work was done, and you would wander aimlessly trying to find them, slowly dying a miserable death in the process. However, I decided to play with you a bit more — frighten you, hurt you…Say, do you remember those growling sounds coming from the distance that one night? Well, meet my little friend Glomper.”  
An enormous creature slowly emerged from the trees behind Ruth, baring it’s sharp teeth at Rose. It’s front head was that of a lion, but it had another head that sprouted from it’s back: a goat’s. A long, serpentine tail coiled loosely around its body. Rose instantly recognized it as a chimera, though she was too frightened to even ask Ruth where she had gotten it.  
“We thought we’d give you a little spook,” Ruth said, cackling like a mad woman. “And it sure seemed to work; your pathetic father wandered dangerously close to us in order to grab a stick. Oh, do I regret not turning Glomper loose and letting him bite his miserable head off right there and then.”  
Rose was now becoming extremely angry. “You’re sick,” she muttered through clenched teeth.  
“Maybe so,” Ruth said with a cruel laugh. “But _you,_ Rose Peabody, are by far the sicker of us.  
“Anyway, I continued following you in your pathetic quest to find your way back onto the trail, and the idea to lead you even further astray was one I could not bear to pass up. I left behind clues, and even carved words into trees to make you believe you were on the right path.”  
Rose thought about the candy wrapper and the “SCOTT — 1857” carving she had seen on the tree, attempting to wrap her head around the fact that Ruth had in fact planted them there.   
“They’ll be gone soon, I thought to myself,” Ruth continued. “I figured it wouldn’t take long for you to run out of food, and you’d starve to death; or perhaps you’d be finished off by God-knows-what creature. But much to my dismay, you’re a resourceful bunch, and you don’t give up easily.   
“You know, you were _very_ close to getting lucky and being rid of me forever. One day a group of Muggle savages spotted Glomper and I, and somehow managed to escape before I could hex them into oblivion. I panicked, and for a moment considered leaving the country, before realizing that these — _people,_ if you could even call them that — likely couldn’t speak a word of English. Even if they could communicate with the civilized world, who would have believed them?”  
“The Indians,” Rose whispered under her breath.  
Ruth went on. “Eventually I came to accept that you were not going die — not out there, anyway. You were too clever for that. I devised a new plan for your suffering; one that would commence at your arrival in Salt Lake. My efforts shifted to focusing on ensuring your arrival in the valley rather than your imminent starvation. Sensing that you would soon die if you didn’t find food, I laid out plenty bread and honey for you to survive the rest of the trip on.”  
Rose’s rage subsided for a moment as she digested this newly revealed piece of information….So the “manna” hadn’t come from God after all. The bread that had saved their lives out in the wilderness was not a miracle; no God had been looking out for them. No, it was simply the workings an evil, vindictive witch who was merely preparing them for upcoming torture. Despite everything else that was going on, Rose began to cry. The one thing she had clung to — the _one_ piece of supposed proof she had desperately held to in attempt to rekindle her faith in God had now been shattered.   
“And then,” Ruth said, “would you believe it, a man happened to stumble upon you. He gave you directions to the nearest town, even planning on taking you there himself. I nearly wet myself with joy. It didn’t matter that the coward packed up and left without a word after his failed attempt at assisting in childbirth, for he had already told you how to get to this town. At that point I knew you were saved, and I went on ahead of you to Salt Lake.   
“For the past several months I’ve been living here, trying to blend in with the Muggles. I wanted to familiarize myself with the town as much as possible, memorizing the layout, the religious structures, and most importantly, finding out what it is that makes these people tick. Unfortunately, a couple of them caught me disciplining my newly-acquired house elf outside my home — I had to dispose of them, and later ended up doing the same to that naughty elf.”  
_“You did that?”_ Rose cried in disbelief. “That missing couple…the dead elf….”  
Ruth scoffed in dismissal. “Yes, yes, it was I! But that’s hardly important; what’s important is I’ve come here to carry out my greatest plan, and I’ve finally got you where you need to be.”  
“What about Wyston?” Rose asked angrily. “He was with me when you snatched me away, I know you’ve done something with him!”  
“The Davis boy is fine — for now. In fact, he’s been quite the helper to me, luring you out of the house like that. Then again, I suppose it’s really the Imperius Curse I ought to be thanking. It had become quite apparent in the several days he had been with me that he was never going to send you into harm’s way willingly.”  
“The past several days?” Rose asked. “What on earth would he have been doing with…?”  
And then it hit her — Wyston hadn’t run away.  
“You _kidnapped_ him!” she screamed at Ruth. “That’s where he’d been all that time.”  
“He’s going to help me,” Ruth told her firmly. “And so are you.”   
“Help you with what?” Rose spat.  
“My plan, of course,” Ruth replied, smiling wickedly.  
Up until this point Rose hadn’t given much thought as to what this plan could be, for she was too much in shock and horror at the fact that Ruth was not only dead, but had been maliciously stalking her family since last summer. She thought about this plan for a moment, and shuddered at the possibilities.  
“What does this plan entail?” she asked out of morbid curiosity.   
Ruth’s face lit up with delight. “I’m truly glad you asked! Rose, dear, let me ask you a question: if there was something you hated — something you hated with such a _fierce_ passion — and you had the ability to get rid of it, would you?”  
Shaking with fear, Rose said, “Um…I suppose I would.”  
Ruth nodded. “Right, then. Now, let me ask you: what is something _I_ hate above all else?”  
Rose pondered on this for a moment, and then she remembered. “Religion.”  
“Indeed. So tell me, isn’t it logical that I should be able to rid the world of religion? Perhaps no major religion, but a smaller one? One that is primarily contained to, oh, I don't know, one particular city? Surely that would be a simple task for a witch as powerful as I, no?”  
“What are you talking about?” Rose asked in disgust. “You can’t just go around and destroy every Mormon. That’s impossible. The Aurors will catch you!”  
“No, but if I manage to do away with their leadership, their buildings — break down the very foundations of their church — I can as good as end this godforsaken religion that has caused me so much pain.”  
“How are we supposed to help you with that?” Rose asked, unable to believe what she was hearing.   
“You’ll see,” Ruth said with one of her eerie smiles.  
“No way,” Rose said, shaking her head. “I will have no part in your evildoings, and I know Wyston won’t either!”  
“Oh, darling, you will help me,” Ruth said with a mocking gentleness in her voice.   
“Why should I?”  
“If you help me overthrow this church, I will let you go free; I will leave your family in peace, go back to England, and you will never hear from me again. All will be forgiven.”  
“And if I don’t?”  
Ruth’s eyes narrowed threateningly and met Rose’s. In a low, menacing voice she said, “If you don’t cooperate with me, not only will it cost your family their lives, but I will _never_ let you go. You will remain with me til the end of my days, and I will make certain you never have a moment of freedom or happiness.”  
Rose felt helpless and terrified, but she knew there was nothing she could do to escape this predicament. In a matter of mere minutes her world had been turned upside down.  
“So,” Ruth continued loudly. “You have a choice to make, dear Rose. Will you agree to help me bring down this despicable establishment, or will you say goodbye to your family forever?”  
“Why are you doing this?” Rose sobbed, feeling sick to her stomach. “You used to be so kind; I thought you were my friend; I thought you loved me.”  
“I could say the same about you!” Ruth snapped. “Rose, you _promised_ you would not leave me. I tried to stay strong, tried to pretend I was okay with your decision. But inside I was hurting terribly. The day I overheard you making plans to come to America was the worst day of my life after losing Archie. I’d been having visions, having these _feelings,_ that some great change was coming to your family, but never could I have imagined it would involve abandoning me to travel overseas to join a group of religious zealots. Eventually however, my eyes were opened — I saw that you would suffer greatly on the trail; I saw that your mother would lose her child. But why should I have bothered to warn you of specific details? If the guilt of abandoning a lonely old woman wasn’t enough to convince you to stay, then perhaps you _deserved_ to suffer.”  
“Ruth,” Rose pleaded, softening her tone. “I am _so sorry_ we left you. We shouldn’t have come here, and I deeply regret that now. But at the time it seemed like the right thing to do — we truly thought it was what God wanted for our family. I know you may not understand, but we felt it wasn’t really our choice.”  
“It was your choice,” Ruth snarled. “God doesn’t exist, and you should have known better than to trust the words of a couple of foolish young men. I thought you to be more intelligent than that, Rose.”   
Rose had no defense for this, so remained silent.  
“You betrayed me, and now you will pay. Don’t you see, child? I’m killing two birds with one stone: on the one hand I’ll be causing you the type of suffering you caused me last year; on the other, I will channel that suffering into helping me achieve my goal of eliminating a poison from society. ”  
“I’m sorry,” Rose whispered, shaking her head.   
“ ‘Sorry’ won’t cut it this time, I’m afraid,” Ruth said.  
She turned her back and began to walk in the opposite direction towards the trees. For a split second Rose contemplated making a run for it, but knew she would never get away, and then what would Ruth do to her?  
A few moments later Ruth emerged from the trees, her hands tightly gripping the arm of a frightened and defeated looking Wyston.   
“Now that we’re all reunited,” Ruth said gleefully, “I will lay out the first phase of my plan to bring down Salt Lake. Gather close, children, and let me explain…”


	17. Part 4 (May 17, 1858) - Maxwell

He angrily threw the latest edition of _The Deseret News_ into the fireplace. A sense of bitter satisfaction came over him as he watched the headline burn to a crisp. GIRL GOES MISSING IN THE SAME AREA PAUL AND BEATRICE COOPER DISAPPEARED FROM IN JANUARY, it read.   
It had been over a week since they’d last seen Rose. She’d up and left in the middle of the night, from what they could figure, and had given no note of her whereabouts.   
Maxwell, however, was sure he knew where she was, and the rest of the family suspected the same: that she had met up with Wyston Davis and run off with him. Maxwell now felt hatred towards the boy that had once been a good friend of his.   
_It just isn’t right,_ he’d thought as he watched Mother break down into hysterical sobs the day she’d gone missing. Mother and Father had already lost one child — did they really need to lose another? He wanted to believe she’d come home, but in reality, didn’t think she would; he’d always known she hated it here. She didn’t often come right out and say it, but he knew she was deeply unhappy with the Mormon culture.   
It didn’t help that the Davises were just as clueless as they were. They hadn’t seen or heard from Wyston in weeks, and believed, as the Peabodys did, that he and Rose had left Salt Lake together.   
Maxwell wanted to go out and look for them, but he couldn’t bear to hurt his parents any more than they already were. And besides, what would become of Fanny if something were to happen to _him?_ She shouldn’t have grow up deprived of all of her siblings. As hard as it was for him to do, he knew he needed to be the rock of his family at that time, and that meant staying put.   
Father, in his despair, had taken time off of work to be home with the family; Mother could barely function, and the children cooked most of their meals. Maxwell’s lessons had come to a halt, and he now spent his days searching newspapers and slipping in and out of the house, trying to piece together the mystery of Rose and Wyston’s disappearance. He spoke with several people on the street and asked them if they had seen the two leaving town, or had otherwise overheard any rumors that could set him on their trail. So far, however, nothing had come up.  
The Davises and the Peabodys often had each other over for supper, primarily for emotional support. The children spent much of the time in their bedrooms while the adults discussed matters in solemn voices.   
One night Maxwell heard his Father say to the Davises, “I just don’t understand it. Rose was such a good girl. I know she didn’t particularly enjoy living here, and she was going through some challenges, but it isn’t like her to just run off…”  
He heard Mother sigh. “I don’t know, Timothy. A while back she got angry with me and left the house without my permission. Granted, she only went to the Davises, and was back by sundown, but…”  
Maxwell, Fanny, and Klea were all listening at the top of the stairs outside of Maxwell’s room. They could make out only snippets of their parents’ conversation.   
“…and I know he would have told us…”  
“…maybe got hitched…”  
“…Rose is not interested in Wyston that way…”  
“…hope they’re not using magic. The last thing they need is an underage magic charge.”   
Maxwell sighed and shook his head. “Those two have really done it this time,” he muttered.   
Fanny looked at him worriedly. “Do you think they’ll come home soon?”  
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “They’d better — do they not care about us?”   
The adults’ conversation carried on for the next several minutes, but the children could not make out anything else they were saying.   
“Do you think they really ran away?” Klea asked. “I mean, think about that couple that went missing; they lived here, in this neighborhood. I don’t know about my brother…but do you think Rose’s disappearance could be related to theirs?”  
Her question took Maxwell off guard, and he stared at her blankly for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Up until that point he hadn’t even considered the possibility that Rose and Wyston hadn’t gone off on their own accord.   
“I haven’t really thought about that,” he admitted.   
“Perhaps we ought to ask Mother and Father,” Fanny suggested.   
Maxwell silently agreed, but the more he thought about it, the more he became certain that his parents had already come to face the possibility that Wyston and Rose had, at best, been led astray by some person like themselves itching with wanderlust, or at worst, been taken somewhere against their will.


	18. Rose

“I’m going to give you one more chance.”  
Ruth and Glomper had been keeping the children hostage in an abandoned Muggle house on the outskirts of Salt Lake. In the eleven days they’d been there Ruth hadn’t let them out of her sight for a second, putting a number of charms on all the doors and windows to prevent them from escaping while she slept. Within the walls of that house she had been grooming them for her plan — one Wyston and Rose had adamantly refused to participate in thus far. Rose hoped, almost foolishly, that Ruth would eventually change her mind about requiring to children to carry out such heinous acts. Now, however, it seemed she was giving them her final ultimatum.   
“One more chance, or what? What are you going to do to us?” Wyston asked furiously, mustering what little strength he had left to oppose her. Rose shot him a look of disapproval, terrified at what the consequences of antagonizing her further might be.   
Ruth cackled cruelly. “I’ve told you once — I don’t need to tell you again. Are you really willing to do that to your family?”  
A desperate look of defeat swept across Wyston’s face, as though the reality of the situation had finally hit him; if they hadn’t managed to escape by this point, they weren’t going to. They were nothing more than pawns in Ruth’s game, and at that point the only thing they could hope to do was survive.   
“For eleven days I have kept my cool,” Ruth snarled. “For eleven days I have sat around patiently, watching as you children threw your futile little tantrum. But sooner or later we all reach our limits.”  
With a swish of her cloak she drew dangerously near Wyston and Rose, coming within inches of their faces.   
“Rose,” she said, in a mild tone that Rose could tell she was having an enormous amount of difficulty maintaining. “You will ride into town _today_ to carry out phase one. I will tolerate no more sitting around — if you have not completed your task by sundown…”  
But she didn’t need to finish, for Rose already knew what would happen if she failed to comply. Trembling, she nodded obediently.   
“Now there’s a good girl!” Ruth said, patting Rose on the shoulder.   
Ruth reached into her cloak and pulled out a large vial filled with a dark green substance.   
“Polyjuice potion. I’ve had it brewed for months. Snitched a few hairs off of a bloke back in England. He was a rather large and hairy fellow, so don't be too shocked when you gain a hundred pounds and sprout a full beard.”  
And with that she giggled, handing Rose the vial and a lump of large clothes that had been sitting in the corner.  
“Do you want me to take it now or later?” Rose muttered, not making eye contact with Ruth.   
“Take it right before you enter the city; find a private place and drink up. We can’t risk the effect wearing off before you’ve gotten the chance to carry out your task.”  
Rose angrily took the potion and clothes from her.  
“And you are perfectly confident, dear Rose, in what you need to do?”  
Rose turned to look at her and glared. “Yes. You’ve been over it with us a dozen times.”  
Ruth chuckled. “Good, good…Now be on your way. When the time comes, hurry back here immediately and we’ll go into town together to carry out phase two.”  
Before Rose had the chance to open the door Ruth added quietly, “And _don’t_ let me down.”  
Rose cringed as her bare feet touched the dewy morning grass. It was the first time she had been let out of the house alone. Glomper, who had been stationed next to the door, growled menacingly at her.  
_It isn’t fair,_ she thought. _I don’t see why Ruth can’t do this herself._   
She mounted the horse that Ruth had stolen off a Muggle passerby, and set off at a run in the direction of the city. For a moment she considered turning off course the moment she was out of view of the house, but figured Ruth, in all her magical prowess, probably had some sort of way of tracking her every move.   
She arrived at the edge of the town within ten minutes, and slipped behind a clump of trees. She changed into the extra set of clothes, removed the Polyjuice potion from her robe pocket, and drank the entire vial in one swig.


	19. Maxwell

“Your turn.”  
Maxwell was engaged in a game of wizard’s chess with Fanny, but she could barely focus, as she kept staring out the window at the small crowd that was gathering in the street.  
_“Fanny.”_  
“All right, I’m going,” Fanny grumbled, and commanded her move.   
Eventually Maxwell decided to call off the game, as Fanny had completely lost the ability to concentrate. He could hardly blame her, what with all the stress surrounding Rose’s disappearance, but he had hoped that the game would have taken her — and his — mind off it for a while.   
“Max, what are they doing?”  
Maxwell walked over to where Fanny was standing at the window; now, the crowd outside had swelled from roughly a dozen people to several dozen. They were all murmuring anxiously to each other, but Maxwell couldn’t make out what they were saying.   
“Don’t know,” he said. “Let’s go check it out.”  
Careful not to attract the attention of Mother, who was in the kitchen making dinner, the children slipped out the front door and made their way over to the crowd.  
“…alert Union Fort immediately,” Maxwell heard a woman cry rather loudly.   
“No. Find the parents first,” said a middle-aged man standing next to her. “They need to know. Loman, you and Reid come with me — we’ll head over to the Peabodys’ and the Davises’.”  
With that the crowd hastily dispersed. One person remained standing there, however: a short, heavyset man with a gray beard and brown buckled boots. Maxwell didn’t recognize him, but approached him to ask what was going on.   
“Hey,” he said. “I heard someone say something about the Peabodys. I’m Maxwell Peabody, and this is my sister Fanny. What is it they need to tell our parents?”  
The man stared at them for a moment, and Maxwell detected sadness in his expression. His demeanor changed quickly, however, and he suddenly became as panicked as the rest of the crowd.   
Putting his hand on Maxwell’s shoulder he said, “I’m sorry, kid. I was riding into town and I caught sight of some Injuns heading south with a young white girl and boy. Didn’t look right, and I figured they’d taken them against their will. I let folks know, and from the description I gave them, I guess the girl was your sister. Apparently she’s been missing for a while now, no?”  
Maxwell’s stomach dropped and his body became limp. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.  
“Again, I’m real sorry, kid. But we’re organizing a militia right now, we’ll get her back. You’ll see.”  
“Are you — are your sure it was her?” Maxwell asked, regaining his composure.   
The man nodded solemnly. “They said they were fairly certain they knew who she was. Long blond hair? Big blue eyes? Couldn’t have been older than fifteen?”  
“That sounds like my sister.”  
“Not sure where else them Injuns could’a snatched a young lass like that anyhow. And what with your sister disappearing without a trace…”  
“What did the boy look like?” Maxwell asked, his voice quivering.  
The man squinted as if trying to remember. “Hmm…I didn’t get as clear a view of him. He had shaggy black hair, was sorta tall, and was wearing suspenders.”  
The man’s description of Wyston and the way he dressed was spot on.   
Without bidding the man goodbye, Maxwell took Fanny by the hand and dashed back to the house; Reid and Loman were already there, standing at the door talking to Mother. The look on her tear-stained face was a mixture of terror and relief.   
“Mother!” Maxwell said, running towards her.   
Mother pulled Fanny and Maxwell into a tight hug and murmured, “Rose…We’re going to get her back.”  
People up and down the street were emerging from their houses, many of them carrying guns.   
“Round up the town!” a man’s voice called from the distance. “We’ve got to rescue the kids!”  
“I’m going with them,” Maxwell said.  
Mother gasped. “Max, don’t you even _think_ — ”  
“That’s my sister and friend they’ve got, and I’m not going to stay behind helplessly — not anymore, Mother.”  
Before Mother could react Reid said, “He could be a great help, ma’am. I mean, maybe if he were to explain to the Indians that that was his sister…”  
Mother looked at him sadly. “Maxwell, I’ve lost one child and still may lose another; I cannot lose you too.”  
“I’ll be all right — I promise I won’t do anything dangerous.”   
Mother shot him a look of distrust, and, despite the severity of the situation, Maxwell couldn’t help but stifle a smirk.   
“Very well then,” Mother said reluctantly. “I’ll contact Father and let him know what’s going on.”  
“Where does your husband work, ma’am?” Loman asked. “We’ll go fetch him.”  
Mother’s face went pale, and after a moment replied, “Er, he…”  
“He’s actually not at work today,” Maxwell interjected, “because he’s sick. Mother wouldn’t tell me what he’s got, but apparently it’s a private matter.”  
Mother smiled with relief and mouthed a _thank you_ to her son out of the corner of her mouth.   
“Oh, I see,” Loman said, looking slightly uncomfortable. “We’d best be on our way then. Lord knows how far the Indians have gotten by now. Don’t worry, ma’am, we’ll get your daughter back.”  
“Oh please,” Mother gasped. “And God bless you.”  
“Grab your gun and meet us by the temple in five minutes,” Reid said to Maxwell. “We need to get a move on straight away.”  
As soon as they were out of earshot Mother said to Maxwell, “I’m heading to MACUSA to get your Father. I’m sure one of the Relief Society sisters will look after Fanny while we’re gone. We’ll follow behind the rest of the group. You go on with the rest of them, as you said you would, lest we look suspicious.”   
Before Maxwell turned to leave Mother grabbed him by the arm and said, “It’s going to be okay — everything’s going to be fine. Just keep your wits about you and pray to God we all make it out of this alive.”  
She kissed his head and sent him on his way. 

*

Every able-bodied man in town joined the search party, while the elderly, women and children took refuge in the neighboring mountain hills, fearful of a retaliation attack on the city.   
Maxwell’s spirits dimmed, however, as midnight came and went and they still hadn’t found any sign of the Indian party. Two thousand men and eight hours of searching had turned up nothing thus far, and it was clear that everybody was beginning to lose hope.   
“We were too late,” Maxwell heard a man behind him say. “Them Injuns are probably halfway to the coast by now.”  
“Hold on,” another person said to him. “That fellow who told us about them…how far out did he say they were? He mentioned they were headed south, but didn’t say how close he was to the city when he saw them.”  
Suddenly Maxwell was furious with himself for not squeezing all the details he could from the man on the street; why hadn’t he thought to further inquire of the Indians’ whereabouts?  
“Shit, I can’t remember,” the man behind Maxwell said. “I don’t even think he told us — say, where is he anyway? Haven’t seen him since he came riding into town like a madman screaming about the Injuns.”  
Come to think of it, Maxwell thought, he _hadn’t_ seen the strange man since running back to the house from him.   
_Oh well,_ he thought sourly. _What does it matter now anyway?_  
Two hours later the disheartened group found itself trudging back to Salt Lake. Maxwell slipped to the back and made his way to his parents, who had been secretly following behind. Mother and Father were sitting in a ditch, looking devastated. Father sobbed, his arms around Mother; Mother was not crying, but wore an expression that couldn’t have made it more evident that she was dead inside. Her eyes were large and haunted, and didn’t even turn to Maxwell as he approached.   
Unsure of what to do, and unable to muster the strength to speak, Maxwell curled up next to his parents and went to sleep.

*

He awoke to the sun beating down on him overhead, and the first thing Father said to him was, “Let’s go home.”  
Maxwell nodded weakly and grabbed on to his arm in preparation for side-along Apparition. Her face still emotionless, Mother pulled her wand out of her robes.  
Maxwell figured the rest of the group was probably arriving back in town at about this time too — he couldn’t bear to imagine the grief he would come home to. Those people, the good people of Salt Lake — their _friends_ — would no doubt blame themselves for not being able to find Rose and Wyston, and that pained Maxwell to think about.   
“Is Mother going to be okay?” he whispered to Father.  
Father looked at him with a brave, yet weak smile. “I don’t know, son.”  
They Apparated back to the house, but instantly realized something was wrong: an enormous pillar of smoke filled the front window.  
“Dear God,” Father cried, and ran outside. Mother and Maxwell followed behind him.   
They couldn’t tell where the smoke was coming from, but it was somewhere very close. As they drew nearer to the center of town they began to see flames. People ran past them towards the fire, shouting frantically. It wasn’t long before Maxwell was able to make out what was on fire, and he gasped in shock.   
“THE TEMPLE!” Mother screamed. “No…God, no…what happened?!”  
The Salt Lake temple, which had still been under construction, was burning in a sea of flames, and from the looks of it, was already damaged beyond repair.  
“That _bastard!”_ a man near the Peabodys shouted, throwing his hat to the ground in a fit of rage. “No wonder he wanted to get us out of town — he never saw no Injuns, that was all just an excuse to lead us on a wild goose chase!”


	20. Rose

Ruth was practically giddy by the time they got back to the house. Glomper, who had remained patiently waiting next to the door, roared with delight at their arrival.   
“It’s done!” Ruth said, grinning from ear to ear. “We succeeded in getting the Muggles out of town and destroying their silly little temple — what fools, to actually take up arms and abandon their homes on the words of a _stranger_. Ha! That hard part’s over, and I am now perfectly confident that we will be able to pull off phase three without trouble.”  
Wyston and Rose exchanged an anxious glance, for they were already fully aware what “phase three” entailed, and thought it to be the most cruel part of all.   
“Now we must wait,” Ruth said as she ushered them into the house. “I will be going in and out of town for the next several days in an attempt to catch wind of when — _his_ — next public appearance will be. Then, we attend said event, and slaughter him. I am certain that the destruction of that one abominable man will lead the church to its grave once and for all. ”  
She noticed the disturbed expressions on the children’s faces and laughed. “The Muggle world _and_ the wizarding world will be better off for this — feel no shame in what you are about to do. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if we all have our place in the history books of the future.”

*

Rose didn’t sleep that night, and each time she turned over to look at Wyston, who was lying on the floor just a few feet away from her, she noticed that he was wide awake as well. Ruth and Glomper, on the other hand, were unconscious the moment the lamps went out. Moonlight streamed through the four-paned windows, creating a soft glow in which the children’s eyes could meet.   
Rose quietly edged her body towards Wyston and said, in barely under a whisper, “What are we going to do?”  
Wyston remained staring at the ceiling, and softly shook his head. “Don’t know. I don’t think there’s much we can do but go along with Ruth’s orders. You heard her…her threats…”   
“I suppose. I just wish it didn’t have to come to this. I don’t think I can kill someone, even someone as abhorrent as him.”  
“Me neither.”  
Rose sighed angrily. “Why is she making us do this? It’s not as if she isn’t capable of doing it on her own.”  
“It’s all to torture you, Rose. Like she said, she wants to make you suffer for abandoning her in England; she kidnapped me as bait to lure you into her grasps, and is now holding me as collateral, in addition to your family.”  
Wyston’s reasoning made sense, and it caused Rose to hate Ruth all the more.   
_But maybe you deserve it…_   
Instinctively Rose felt a rush of fury at the voice in the back of her mind. _Of course_ she didn’t deserve to be held against her will and made to carry out arson and murder! But as the night rolled on and she continuously failed to fall asleep, a sense of guilt overcame her.   
_You hurt Ruth in the worst possible way. You left her behind, a frail, lonely old woman, for a fraudulent church. You are the lowest of the low, pure scum!_  
She wiped tears away from her eyes.  
_And she is right, you know — you’d be doing the whole world a favor by ridding it of this corrupt organization. Think of the greater good…_  
The hatred Rose felt towards the Mormon church and religion in general, which, up until that point, she had suppressed during the time she’d been held captive by Ruth, came flooding back to her. It was the church that had caused them to leave their comfortable home in England in the first place; it was the church that was the reason she would never be going back to Hogwarts, and her younger siblings would never have the opportunity to attend; it was the church that had put them through the hell of the handcart journey, and thereby killed her baby brother; and it was the church that had turned a kind witch into a madwoman, willing to put her once-beloved friend in harm’s way to achieve a maniacal goal.   
_If God was really there he wouldn’t have let this happen,_ Rose thought. _I pray for faith, but faith comes not. How could a loving God be so cruel as to keep the truth hidden?_   
A horrible realization began to dawn on her: if there was no God and no divine design, then did life even matter? Humanity would surely go extinct some day, just as the dinosaurs did. Human existence, she reasoned, would likely be nothing more than a brief stamp on the far-stretching timeline of the earth’s life. No matter what anybody achieved, no matter how many loving relationships they formed — it wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. She likened her life to a tiny grain of sand on a vast beach — how could anything so small be of any significance?  
As much as she wanted to believe in a greater purpose to life, she came to the acceptance, there on the floor in the abandoned old house, that reality was nothing more than a colossal accident. There was no real purpose for the universe and the earth to exist except by an astounding sequence of coincidental events. Love, anger, excitement, and sadness were all constructs of the human mind, having nothing whatsoever to do with the divine.   
In that vein, she thought, why should it matter if she died? Why should it matter if she took the life of another person? Their existence was pointless, as was that of every other person who knew and loved them — they would all meet their ends some day, why should it matter if the process was sped up?  
_And for what reason,_ she wondered, _do I care whether the church continues or not? Of course it ruins lives, but lives don’t matter._   
_Because if you don’t,_ came another voice, strong and practical, yet equally as dark, _then you’ll never see your family again._   
The lives of her family were admittedly insignificant, and eventually the day would come that she’d lose them forever. But that day would not come anytime soon if she could help it, and for now, that was reason enough.


	21. Maxwell

Salt Lake was in a state of panic.  
Ever since the burning of the temple two days prior the entire city had been on edge. Men with guns patrolled the streets, desperately trying to find the strange man that had brought them false news. Most people couldn’t bring themselves to believe that the man, likely fully aware that he now had a target on his back, was still around, and thought that the vigilantes were wasting their time.   
Father, however, was one who had different ideas: he had expressed to the family that he believed the attack on the temple was part of a much larger scheme in which the man was involved, and that he was likely still nearby, plotting his next act violence against the people of Salt Lake.  
“I don’t know whether he really saw Rose and Wyston or not; I don’t know whether he is Wizard or Muggle,” he said. “But regardless I think it is probable that it was he who set fire to the temple. That is a dangerous man, children, and you all need to be careful. In fact, I’d rather none of you left the house while I’m away at work. I’m going to see about putting additional protection charms on the house, and…”  
“Hold on,” Maxwell said. “Rose and Wyston…If he didn’t really see them, then how was he able to perfectly describe what they look like?”  
Both Mother and Father raised their eyebrows.  
“He described their appearance to you?” Father asked.   
“Yes, right down to Rose’s blue eyes and Wyston’s hair. Doesn’t it seem oddly coincidental that he could just fabricate two kids who happen to match the _exact_ description of two kids who do, in fact, exist, and _are_ currently missing?”   
“Rose and Wyston’s pictures have been all over the local newspapers, Max,” Mother reminded him. “The necessary information wouldn’t have been hard for him to find.”  
But another thought had suddenly occurred to him.  
“That woman!” he exclaimed. “Remember that mysterious woman they saw? Maybe she and porky are in on something together.”  
“You know,” Father said after a moment, “I wouldn’t be surprised if you were right.”  
“The dead elf, the mysterious woman, that couple in our ward, Rose and Wyston’s disappearance, and now the temple being burnt down,” Maxwell continued. “Do you think all this could be connected somehow?”  
For a while his parents did not respond. They appeared troubled, and in deep thought.  
“Something peculiar is going on around here, that’s for sure,” Mother said. “Timothy, have you gotten any leads on the missing couple and unregistered wand?”  
“No, unfortunately,” Father sighed.   
At that moment an owl swooped in through the back window and deposited a letter in Father’s hands. Maxwell noticed it was emblazoned with a MACUSA seal.   
Father tore the envelope open in a hurry and read the note inside, and as he did so, his face turned white.  
“I spoke too soon,” he said softly, and handed the note to Mother. She read it with an equally shocked expression.   
Maxwell hardly dared to ask, but did so anyway. “What is it? What’s wrong?”  
His parents turned to him and Mother said, “It’s a notice from MACUSA. It seems they’ve detected activity from an unregistered wand near the center of town; it says the magic was performed sometime within the last few days.”  
“Which would have been…” Father said, frowning.  
“…around the location of the temple, and within the timeframe it burned down,” Maxwell finished. “Father! Does MACUSA know about what’s been happening here lately? Have you told them about the temple?”  
“No,” Father said, looking slightly ashamed. “I hadn’t really considered that it could be magic-related.  
“The note says they’re going to be sending out someone from the Auror Office,” Mother said. “Once we tell them about the temple I have a feeling they’ll be sticking around for a while.”  
An hour later two Aurors showed up at the house. These were the same ones that had spoken with the family earlier that year — Auror Slade and Auror Jeremiah. Both appeared stressed, yet determined.   
“Peabody,” Jeremiah said, extending his hand to Father. “You all hanging in there okay?”  
“We’re trying,” Father said in a deeply pained voice. “God’s been our rock these past several weeks, I tell you.”  
“I take it you know why we’re here?”  
“Yes, the letter explained everything. But there’s something you ought to know, I doubt if you’re aware…”  
“Oh?” Slade said, raising his eyebrows.  
Father told the Aurors about the strange man, the militia, and how they’d returned to town to find the temple ablaze.   
“Christ,” Slade muttered, shaking his head.   
“The unregistered wand…it had to have had something to do with the temple,” Father said. “The location, the time, it all adds up. Somehow I get the feeling that whatever’s happening around here isn’t the work of no-maj’s.”  
“And I would say you’re correct,” Jeremiah agreed grimly. “The problem is, as we have no records of the wand in our database, it may be next to impossible to catch this person — or people — based on magic trails alone. If we’re going to catch them we’re going to have to catch them in the act, and that won’t be easy. So far it seems they’ve done a good job at managing to keep in the shadows.”   
“What will you do then?” Mother asked.  
“Well, for one, we’re going to be staying in town for a while,” Slade answered. “Keeping an eye on things. We’ll be lying low, trying to blend in with the no-maj crowd, so if you see us at your church or walking down the street, don’t say anything — if there really are dark wizards about, the last thing we need is them knowing we’re here. In my twenty-five years on the job I have yet to meet one criminal that didn’t flee the second he realized he was being stalked. Those are the ones we never end capturing.”  
“I pray this will be resolved soon,” Mother said. “To be perfectly honest I’m not sure how much more my heart will be able to take.”  
“Understandable, ma’am,” Slade said, nodding his head. “When your child’s missing and there are dangerous criminals on the loose…I can’t even imagine. We promise we’ll do everything we can to put a stop to this person — or group.”  
“We’ll be on the lookout in the meantime,” Father assured them. “And we’ll alert the Davises.”  
“Thank you,” Jeremiah said. “It’ll save us a trip over there.”


	22. Rose

For the next three days Ruth was away from the house from sunup to sundown.   
“I’ve given Glomper permission to rip your throats out if you so much as stick a toe outside,” she had told the children. “So don’t get any ideas.”   
She never told them specifically what she was doing, just that she was listening in on “inner circle conversations.”  
On the third day she came home looking like she’d won the lottery.   
“Next week!” she exclaimed the second she burst through the door. “Next Thursday — he’s going to be addressing a congregation at Caymer Park. I overheard it at the hotel. That’s when we’ll make our move, children. It will be perfect! I’m going to go into town one more time before then to scope out the park.”  
_So that’s it,_ Rose thought, her stomach sinking. The day she’d be forced to help murder a man. She’d known it was coming all along, but now that it was set on a definitive date it began to feel much more real.  
She looked sadly over at Wyston, who’s sunken eyes had begun to swell with tears. Ruth had succeeded in breaking his spirit — he was no longer the bold, upbeat boy he was prior to being kidnapped. He now, like Rose, was nothing more than a puppet in the old woman’s cruel game; he no longer fought it, but accepted it.   
_But in the end it doesn’t matter,_ she reminded herself. _We’re all going to die someday._


	23. Maxwell

That Sunday the Peabodys went to the Davises for dinner, partially for the food, but mostly for the emotional support.   
After dinner the children went outside to sit in the garden, and Maxwell figured it was the perfect time to ask Klea what he’d been meaning to for days. “Say, did your brother happen to mention anything else about that strange woman? You know, the one he saw out on the street that one time?”  
Klea thought for a moment and replied, “I don’t think so. All I ever heard him say was that he saw her levitating a pocket watch.”  
Maxwell sighed. “If we only had a few more details…what she was wearing, or what her face looked like. Are you sure he didn’t tell you anything else out of the ordinary before he disappeared? About _anything?”_  
“Actually, come to think of it, yes.”  
Maxwell and Fanny stared at her anxiously.  
Klea frowned and continued, “I hardly took notice of it at the time, but the day before he went missing he kept staring out the front window. I asked him what he was looking at and he told me that there was an old woman standing near our house — he said he thought he could see her looking inside. I went over to see, but she was gone.”  
“Why didn’t you tell your parents?” Fanny asked.  
“Like I said, I never saw this woman,” Klea said. “I thought my brother was just seeing things. And besides, what harm could an old lady do?”  
“I suppose you were right,” Maxwell muttered, poking at the ground with a stick. “Probably wasn’t anything important.”  
“Well, now that I think back on it, I’m not so sure. Do you think it’s possible that the woman he saw that day was the same one he saw levitating the pocket watch earlier?”  
“Could be,” Maxwell said. “But I doubt it. I can’t even count the number of old ladies there are in this city.”  
“I do have some good news, though,” Klea said after a moment. “My dad knows someone in the stake presidency, and he says that Brother Brigham is going to be speaking to our stake over at Caymer Park on Thursday.”  
“Oh boy!” Fanny said excitedly. “I haven’t seen the prophet in person before.”  
“Me neither. But Father says…”  
Maxwell gradually began to tune out of the girls’ conversation. Assuming that the woman Wyston had seen and the black-clad one that had threatened Rose was the same person, she was almost certainly dangerous, and had malicious intent. The question was, why? What could this witch want with their little no-maj town? Maxwell knew deep down, of course, that it was likely she wasn’t there out of interest in the no-maj’s, or Mormon culture; if she really as a witch, then she had to have known that there were two wizarding families living in the area, and wanted something with them.   
His pounding heart filled with dread, he got up and walked back into the house. Mother and Father and the Davis parents were still sitting around the table, looking gloomy as ever.   
“Rose and Wyston didn’t run away.”  
They turned to look at him; none of them appeared terribly shocked at his words.   
Maxwell swallowed and continued, “I don’t think they ran away, and I don’t think they were kidnapped by Indians either.”  
The adults sighed, but avoided making eye contact with him.   
“I mean, do you remember that woman Wyston saw out his bedroom window? Klea tells me he saw another one — or possibly the same one, I don’t know — out the front window the day before he went missing. She said he told her it looked like she was peering into the house.”  
This, however, was clearly news to Mr. and Mrs. Davis, who raised their eyebrows and glanced at each other worriedly.   
“And that woman Rose saw — she _threatened_ her. I think that woman and the one Wyston saw was the same person. I think whoever she is, she’s somehow involved in their disappearance.”  
“As do we all, Max,” Father sighed. “Why do you think the Aurors are out here? It isn’t just because of an unregistered wand and a burnt temple; the man who cried wolf isn’t the only one they’re after — in fact, at this point they aren’t even sure whether it is he who is using the wand, the woman, or both. The woman’s been on our radar at MACUSA ever since Rose and Wyston went missing. We didn’t want to say anything to you kids because…”  
Maxwell understood.  
“But who is she?” he pleaded desperately. “What could she want with our families?”  
“Unfortunately we have no idea,” Father said. “The only details we know about her are based on the description the kids gave — we don’t even have a name.”  
“She’s got Rose and Wyston,” Maxwell stated. “I know she has; and somehow that fat man is involved too. He obviously wanted to get us out of town so he could burn down the temple, but what for? And is that the _only_ reason he sent us off? Did something else happen here while we were away?”  
“Don’t know,” Mr. Davis said. “None of it makes sense. All I know is there’s something much bigger going on here than the kidnapping of two kids.”  
Mother and Mrs. Davis, averting their eyes from the others, both looked to be on the verge of tears.   
“Then we’ve got to do something!” Maxwell said, his voice shaking. “We can’t just sit around and hope that they’re found.”  
Mother shifted a sober gaze to her son’s eyes. “Max, that’s all we _can_ do.”  
A sense of dread and helplessness came over Maxwell as he realized she was right; whoever these people were, they were dangerous wizards, and could only be dealt with by highly trained professionals. Neither Maxwell, his parents, nor the Davises were qualified to hunt down criminals of this type, and he knew it would be foolish for them to even try. Where would they even start?  
“Slade and Jeremiah are doing everything they can to find the kids, and bring those responsible for their kidnap to justice,” Father assured him. “I know it’s hard — I know it’s the most difficult thing in the world — but for now, all we can do is pray to God for strength and faith.”  
_Yeah, because God did such a great job at keeping them safe in the first place,_ Maxwell thought angrily, but then stopped himself. God had always been good to his family, and preserved their lives — why should this time be any different?  
_You’re just like those people in the scriptures…Praise God when things are going your way, and curse him the second your spirits fall._   
Ashamed, Maxwell uttered a silent prayer of repentance in his heart. 

*

Father was off work the next day, and suggested taking the family to the nearby Caymer Park for a picnic.   
“We all need to get our minds off things,” he’d said.  
Reluctantly Maxwell had agreed to go along, but he very much doubted if anyone could truly enjoy themselves with the worries of the current situation looming over their heads.   
The spread a blanket over the grass and got to work on their basket of fried chicken and corn.  
“Max,” Mother said, “would you mind refilling the water?”  
“Sure,” Maxwell muttered. He took the empty jug and began walking across the park to the water fountain.  
A line had formed at the fountain, and with a sigh, Maxwell took his place at the end. To pass time he suspiciously glanced around at the people in the park.  
_Any one of them could be in on it for all I know._  
He noticed one person in particular: a small-framed woman wearing a multilayered dress and a scarf around her head. He thought that was odd, as it was a fairly warm day.   
He could barely see her face, as her back was turned almost entirely to him. She stood still, and appeared to be staring at something. The second she turned and began heading in the direction left of Maxwell he caught his first full glimpse of her face.   
“Ruth?” he said under his breath, convinced he had to be hallucinating.  
But there was no mistaking it — the woman making her way across the park was none other than Ruth Jenkins. As far as he knew she hadn’t seen him, but he had certainly seen her. She glanced around in every direction, but never met Maxwell’s eyes.   
“Hey, wait!” he called, bursting from the line and through a crowd of people gathered behind the fountain. But somehow, just as quickly as she’d come into his view she had disappeared. He frantically searched the perimeter of the park, but she was nowhere to be found.  
“Did you see her?” he asked his family once he returned to them.  
“See who?” Mother asked.  
“Ruth!” Maxwell exclaimed, in full awareness of the absurdity of it all. “She’s here…I saw her.”  
From the expression on his parents’ faces it was clear that they were fighting back laughter.  
“Come on, son,” Father said. “What is this about?”  
“I. Saw. Ruth.”  
“Ruth Jenkins?” Mother asked. “Max, you know very well Ruth has passed away.”  
“Yeah, that’s what I _thought.”_  
“You probably just saw a little old lady that looked similar to her,” Mother rationalized. “I find myself doing that all the time with people I know.”  
But Maxwell shook his head defiantly. “No. It was definitely her, Mother. I know what I saw!”  
“Surely you know that’s impossible.”  
“Of course, but if she was dead, then how would she be up and walking about?”  
“Perhaps she has a twin sister she never told us about,” Father suggested half-jokingly.   
“Even so,” Maxwell played along, “what are the chances she’d be here in Salt Lake, of all places?”  
Mother sighed. “Max, darling, I have to wonder if the stress of your sister being gone —”   
“Ruth is here, Mother! She’s not dead. We’ve got to go find her.”  
But his parents were having none of it.  
“I know you think you saw Ruth,” Father said. “But she is not here — it’s as simple as that. She’s resting in a graveyard next to her husband back in England.”  
“I’m gonna go fetch that water,” Maxwell grumbled, accepting that he was never going to convince them of what he saw. “The line was too long the first time.”

*

When they got home Fanny approached Maxwell in private and asked him if he had really seen Ruth at the park.  
_“I did,”_ he insisted. “Don’t you believe me?”  
Fanny grimaced uncomfortably. “Well — yes. But like Mother and Father said, how is that even possible?”  
“I really don’t know,” Maxwell admitted. “The only explanation I can think of is that she didn’t actually die. Or Father was right, and she does have a twin…”  
“She did die. We saw her at her funeral, remember?”  
“No, we didn’t,” Maxwell retorted, the fact suddenly occurring to him.   
Fanny stared at him curiously.  
“We saw the _casket,_ but not Ruth.”  
“So? What does that prove? Mother and Rose were the ones who found her dead, and we saw the undertaker leave with the body.”  
She had a point there, Maxwell thought. Mother and Rose wouldn’t have deemed her dead for nothing, and they certainly wouldn’t have put her into a casket if there was any chance she was still alive, would they?  
“Unless,” Fanny muttered, frowning, “they were _lying_ about it.”  
“You really think they’d lie about something like that?”  
“Well, no. But I think we ought to ask Mother and Father when the precise moment they last saw her body was.”  
Amazed that his seven-year-old sister had been able to work out what he hadn’t, Maxwell agreed, and together they bolted down the stairs.  
“Mother! Father!” Fanny called, racing into the kitchen where their parents were seated around the table.  
“What is it, honey?” said Mother.  
“When did you last see Ruth’s body?” Maxwell asked.  
“Oh dear,” Mother sighed. “Not this nonsense again.”  
“I’m serious!”  
“Why do you ask?” Father inquired, eyeing his children suspiciously.   
Attempting to put on an air of innocence Maxwell replied, “Just curious, I guess.”  
Father thought for a moment. “Hmm…not sure I can remember. I think it was right before she was removed from the house.”  
“So you didn’t see her being put into her coffin?”  
“No, thankfully.”  
Fanny turned to Mother and asked, “And when did you see her last, Mother?”  
“In her bedchamber,” Mother answered, looking sad. “I’ll never forget that morning…”  
Fanny and Maxwell said nothing more on the subject to their parents, but privately engaged in conversation for the remainder of the evening. The more they thought about it and talked things through, the more it seemed possible that Ruth’s death had been faked. The one thing they could not agree on, however, was why.  
“I mean, I know she wasn’t keen on going to live with Uncle Frank and Aunt Nora,” Maxwell said. “But would she really go so far as to pretending to die to avoid doing so?”  
Suddenly Fanny gasped. “Max! We ought to write the undertaker. If anybody would know what happened to Ruth’s body between the time it left the house and the burial it would be him.”  
“You’re right. I wonder if Mother and Father can still get in contact with him.”  
“Do you think they’ll agree to it?”  
“No,” Maxwell admitted, frowning. “Not easily, anyway. But somehow we’ve got to get the information out of them. I want to find out what really happened to Ruth, and if she is still alive, why she’s here.”


	24. Rose

Ruth didn’t return to the house until after dinnertime. She had left Glomper and the children with a loaf of bread (which Glomper had wholly devoured in one bite) and a pot of cold vegetable stew. Rose knew she would need her all her strength in the coming days, but couldn’t eat anything, and neither could Wyston.   
“You better eat,” Glomper growled at them in his deep, animalistic voice. “The last thing Ruth needs is a pair of meager weaklings on the big day.”  
Rose reluctantly pulled a bowl out from one of the cupboards and poured some stew into it. Wyston followed suit, and together they ate in silence.   
As soon as they finished eating the door burst open and Ruth entered the house.  
“Well,” she said gaily, “I’ve studied the park and its surroundings. From the looks of things we should easily be able to pull it off. Everything is ready to go — I know exactly how it’s going to happen. Isn’t this exciting, children?”  
And with that she let out a loud, evil chuckle.


	25. Maxwell

As he suspected, Mother and Father were not the least bit willing to get in touch with the people that had handled Ruth’s body. He’d explained his concerns to them and fervently begged them to see reason, but to no avail.  
“This is getting out of hand, Max,” Father said to him the next morning at breakfast. “I don’t want to hear one more word about Ruth, do you understand? Your Mother and I have got enough on our plate right now without having to deal with your delusions.”  
Maxwell was more hurt than angered at this. _Delusions?_  
“But —” he began.  
“Enough, Maxwell!” Mother snapped. “You’ve got to let this go.”  
He glared at his parents, and Fanny pouted.   
“Well,” Father said after an awkward minute of silence, grabbing his work briefcase off the ground, “I’d best be off. Love you all.”  
Before he stepped into the fireplace he turned to Maxwell and told him once again, “No more talk about Ruth.”  
Neither Maxwell or Fanny responded, but remained scowling at the table, their arms folded.   
As soon as Mother had taken the dishes to the sink Maxwell turned to Fanny and whispered, “I think we ought to tell someone else.”  
“Who?”  
“Jeremiah and Slade, maybe.”  
“What can they do?”  
Maxwell glanced across the room at Mother, who had begun to look their way out of the corner of her eye, and whispered, “Upstairs. Now.”  
They excused themselves from the table and headed upstairs to Maxwell’s room.   
“Why do you think we should tell the Aurors?” Fanny asked as soon as Maxwell had shut the door behind them.   
“They just might be able to help us get a hold of someone back in England, or at least keep their eyes open for Ruth around town.”  
“Do you know where they’re staying?”  
“Yes,” Maxwell said. “Before they left the other night I heard them tell Father they’d be renting a room over at Ida’s.”  
With a bit of pleading and promising to be careful, Mother agreed to let them out for a walk. They didn’t mention to her where they were going, however, and turned on to the appropriate street only when they were out of view of the house.   
Ida Vetron was an older woman who owned a hotel on the street directly to the north of the Peabody’s. Upon arriving the children asked her which room Jeremiah and Slade were staying in.  
“How do you kids know these gentlemen?” she asked suspiciously.   
Maxwell had to think fast.   
“Uh…they’re friends of our parents. Visiting from out of town. Mother and Father asked us to come check up on them.”  
Ida clearly wasn't buying their story, but nevertheless pointed them to the Aurors’ room. Max knocked promptly, and Jeremiah answered, looking deeply stressed.   
“What are you doing here, kids?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”  
“We need to talk, sir,” Maxwell said.  
Jeremiah glanced around the deserted hallway and quickly beckoned the children inside.   
Slade was sitting at a desk near the window, scribbling frantically on a long piece of parchment.   
“The Peabody children are here,” Jeremiah said as they entered the room.  
“What do they want?” Slade muttered, not looking up from his work.  
“Sir,” Maxwell said, “I think I saw somebody — here in town — that I had previously believed to be dead.”  
Catching the Aurors’ perplexed expressions, he hurriedly explained the situation with Ruth, trying desperately to phrase things in a way that wouldn’t make him seem like a complete lunatic.   
“I’m not sure how much you could do,” he continued, “but if there is a way — any way — you could get us in touch with the right people in England, we’d really appreciate it.”   
For a moment the Aurors remained silent, staring at each other with a look of disbelief.   
“By God…” Jeremiah said under his breath, and then turned to Maxwell and asked sharply, “You said her name was Ruth, boy?”  
“Yes. Ruth Jenkins.”  
Slade got up from his chair and walked over to Maxwell, putting his hands firmly on his shoulders. “And you’re _positive_ you saw her in the park the other day?”  
“Yes sir.”  
The Aurors met each other’s eyes once again.  
“Look,” Slade said, lowering his voice, “I’m not sure we should be telling you this, but the Department is currently investigating a case involving a witch by that very name.”  
Maxwell’s heart dropped. “What?”  
“Well, last October a wizard in Iowa reported his Thunderbird missing — he had a permit to study it, see, but was planning on releasing it back into the wild after he was through. He said a witch came to his door, somehow aware that he was keeping the bird in his backyard, and asked if she could look at it. He obliged, but said he had only gone back into the house for no more than a minute before returning and finding both the bird and the woman gone.”  
“It can’t have been our Ruth,” Maxwell said, shaking his head. “Why would she want to steal a Thunderbird?”  
“Trafficking of magical beasts is a big business, kid,” Jeremiah told him.  
Maxwell almost wanted to laugh at the notion that Ruth would be involved in any such thing. “It must have been a different Ruth Jenkins.”  
“Maybe,” Slade admitted. “But I don’t think so. The description you gave of your friend…everything about her matches up to what the guy in Iowa described.”  
“You say you thought she’d died back in England,” Jeremiah continued, “but claimed to have seen her at Caymer Park on Monday. I’m inclined to believe you, kid; I don’t think she’s dead — in fact, after what you told us, I think it’s likely your friend isn’t just alive, she’s involved in some illegal activities here in the States.”  
But Maxwell couldn’t bring himself to believe it. Sweet little old Ruth, stealing magical creatures for money?   
“Then why is she in Salt Lake?” he challenged, glaring at the Aurors. “There’s really nothing of value she could get her hands on here. She obviously came to try to find us.”   
“Oh yeah?” Slade said, raising his eyebrows so high they almost touched the rim of his dark brown cowboy hat. “Then why hasn’t she written to you, let you know she was coming?”  
“She wouldn’t know our address!”  
“Wouldn’t have been too hard to find out. I think the fact that she hasn’t contacted you all these months — especially in the time she’s been in Salt Lake — speaks volumes. Face it, kid, Ruth ain’t here to reestablish ties with lost friends. For whatever goddam reason, she wanted you to believe she died, and is more than content to keep things that way.”  
“Max?” Fanny said quietly, looking up at her brother with a concerned expression. “Ruth is still our friend, isn’t she?”  
Maxwell desperately wanted to give her an affirmative answer, but for the first time since hearing the Aurors’ story, was beginning to have his doubts.   
“Could you help us get in contact with somebody back in England?” Maxwell asked.  
“What for?” Slade asked, with a scoffing chuckle. “I think it’s obvious what’s going on here. People fake their deaths all the time, son, and with Ruth having magic on her side, it would have actually been pretty easy.”  
“I just don’t get it,” Maxwell muttered, frowning. “Ruth was not the type…she was so kind and honest…you wouldn’t understand.”  
“You never know what people are hiding behind a smile and a blessing,” Slade told him sympathetically.   
The Aurors bid the children farewell, assuring them that they would be over to explain the situation to their parents later that day.  
Fanny and Maxwell didn’t speak a word to each other on the walk home.  
_She lied to us,_ Maxwell thought, fighting back tears. _By pretending to die, she lied to us. Why?_  
He couldn’t understand how a woman that had been such a good friend of the family — a woman they had taken in after her husband died, much less — could deceive them in such a hurtful way.   
True to their word, Slade and Jeremiah visited the Peabodys after dinner that evening and told them about Ruth.   
“You didn’t believe me,” Maxwell sulked, glaring at his parents. “You thought I was losing my mind when I told you I saw her at the park.”  
“It seemed impossible,” Father said. “Please forgive us, Max.”  
Though he was angry that it had taken the Aurors to convince his parents of what he’d seen, he didn’t wish to carry on about the issue when there were more important things to worry about.   
“Mr. Peabody,” Slade said to Father, “can you think of any reason why Ruth would have wanted you to believe she was dead?”  
“No,” Father replied, seeming slightly agitated. “As we told you, Mr. Slade, never in the eight years that we knew her did her behavior strike us as anything but natural. She and Archibald were just like any other couple; very decent, kind people. Of course, after he passed she went through a bit of a depressive episode, but that was perfectly understandable. She’s a Seer, you know, and actually had a premonition about his death. She was upset that she hadn’t been able to prevent it.”  
“A Seer, eh?” Jeremiah asked. “Peculiar folks, that lot.”  
“Mmm,” Mother said uncomfortably.   
“She had her moments,” Father spoke up. “But I just can’t _believe_ that she would…”  
“Of course not,” Jeremiah agreed. “These types don’t often reveal their true nature. They’ve got the facade of innocence down to an art.”  
Father sighed and shook his head, muttering under his breath, “Stealing a Thunderbird…I can’t believe she would…”  
“I have no idea why she’s in town,” Slade admitted. “But I can’t imagine it’s for anything good. If you encounter her don’t say anything to her — fetch us immediately.”

*

Maxwell did not sleep that night. He tossed and turned in his bed, unable to silence the flood of different thoughts pouring through his head.   
What was Ruth really up to, and what business did she have in Salt Lake? Why was she staring at people in the park? And why did it seem she was hiding from the Peabodys?  
With all the excitement surrounding Ruth, it suddenly occurred to Maxwell that he had forgotten about Rose and Wyston.  
_Miss you guys,_ he thought sadly.  
He directed his thoughts back to his sister and friend. Where could they be? Were they really kidnapped, or _had_ they, in fact, run away?  
_But what reason would anyone have to take them?_   
Klea’s voice suddenly rang in his head, _“I asked him what he was looking at and he told me that there was an old woman standing near our house…”_  
Old woman…  
_“Do you think it’s possible that the woman he saw that day was the same one he saw levitating the pocket watch earlier?”_  
No. It couldn’t be.  
Maxwell sat up straight in bed. Praying that his conjecture was wrong, he bolted out the door and into his parents’ bedroom.  
“Max?” Mother groaned, rubbing her eyes. “Do you have any idea what time it is, young man?”  
“There are only two reasons you should have come in here,” Father told him sternly. “Somebody better be dying, or Christ himself better have returned to earth.”  
“Ruth,” he said quickly. “It was Ruth that Wyston saw out his window. She’s been watching his house!”


	26. Rose

Ruth had set up several scarecrows outside the house for Rose to practice cursing.   
“You know what you need to do,” Ruth whispered into her ear as Rose raised her wand in preparation to fire.   
_“Avada Kedavra!”_ Rose cried, but nothing more than a few flimsy sparks came out of the end of the wand.   
Ruth sighed and closed her eyes. “You only have today to get this down. Concentrate!”  
Rose had never even thought about casting one of the Unforgivable Curses before, much less attempted one. But now she felt no remorse doing so.  
Rose repeated the curse, and again failed.  
“Think of the person you hate most,” Ruth encouraged, pointing to the scarecrow directly in front of them. “And imagine _ending_ them.”  
There wasn’t anybody Rose truly hated, but nobody she wouldn’t blast to smithereens either, if she had the mind to. She found that her current attitude towards humanity was one of apathy — what use was it to love someone if they were going to die someday, and by that same token, why should you hate someone if you knew that they too would be gone in a relatively short amount of time?  
_There is no point in life. Sooner or later we all turn to dust._  
Gripping the wand tightly, and focusing entirely on the task at hat, Rose shouted, _“Avada Kedavra!”_  
This time a burst of green light erupted from the wand and hit the scarecrow, causing it to uproot from the ground and fly backwards.  
“Excellent, Rose!” Ruth squealed, clapping her hands. “I have to say, I’m quite impressed. I have yet to meet a wizard twice your age who could pull off such remarkable magic. You keep that up, and you’ll have no problem getting rid of that Brigham Young tomorrow.”  
Unsure of why this compliment mattered to her, Rose smiled.  
“I am curious, however,” Ruth continued. “Who did you picture while firing the curse?”  
Speaking in honesty Rose replied, “Myself.”


	27. Maxwell

The Peabodys had immediately informed the Aurors of their suspicions, and they agreed that Maxwell could be on to something.  
“This Ruth character is seeming more and more fishy by the minute,” Slade had said darkly.   
Maxwell still couldn’t understand any of it. The thunderbird, Ruth’s presence in Salt Lake, her being outside Wyston’s window…  
“Ruth had something to do with Rose and Wyston’s disappearance,” he told his parents. “I know she did.”  
Father nodded and sighed. “I think it’s fair to say the woman Wyston saw was involved somehow. And if that woman was, in fact, Ruth, then…”  
“But _why?”_ Maxwell asked desperately. “Why would she do that? Why would she have done _any_ of this?”  
“God only knows,” Mother responded quietly. “I just never thought — Ruth, of all people…”  
“All I know is, we’ve got to get to the bottom of this,” Father muttered. “I didn’t want to believe it at first, but now I’m afraid I can’t deny that Ruth is most likely here with malicious intent. Whatever her involvement with Rose and Wyston may be, I have a very bad feeling about it.”  
The Davises were contacted, and the two families spent the morning with the Aurors trying to piece together a seemingly impossible puzzle.  
“We’ve searched this place up and down,” Jeremiah told them. “And still no sign of her. The first and only time she was sighted was by Maxwell on Monday, at Caymer Park.”   
“What are you saying?” Mrs. Davis asked. “Do you think she’s left town?”  
“It’s possible. Either that or she knows we’re on to her, and is doing everything possible to lay low.”  
“Max,” Mother said, turning to her son, “when you saw Ruth at the park, what did you say she was doing, again?”  
“I couldn’t really tell,” Maxwell replied. “She was by herself, and she seemed to be watching everybody closely — like she was observing a flock of birds or something.”  
“When you called out to her, do you think she heard you?” Slade inquired. “Did she show any sort of indication that she was aware of your presence?”  
“No. By the time I noticed her and tried to get her attention she was already walking away, and I lost her in the crowd before I could get a hold of her.”  
“She was clearly testing the waters,” Slade said. “Probably trying to get a feel for the town, its people, and their behavior. But for what reason I don’t know.”  
“Do you think she is involved with that strange man and the burning of the temple?” Maxwell asked.  
None of the adults responded for a moment, but then Jeremiah said, “Yes, we do. Somehow these people and events are all connected. What we need to figure out is how and why.”  
The realization that Ruth had had part in, if not directly participated in, the burning of the temple made Maxwell sick to his stomach. Why would she _do_ something like that? How could she have so much hatred for the church and the people of Salt Lake that she could deliberately destroy such a sacred part of their community?  
_She never had much respect for religion,_ he thought resentfully.  
He imagined, in a tongue in cheek sort of way, that she had followed the Peabodys to Salt Lake just to seek revenge on them for leaving her in England.   
But _was_ the idea really so crazy?  
Ruth had never kept her contempt for religious belief a secret, and she had been devastated upon hearing the news that the family would be heading to America. Was it possible that this was the one thing that had finally caused her to snap?  
“Mother! Father!” he said urgently, turning to his parents. “You know how Ruth felt about religion and our coming here. Do you think she could have burnt the temple and kidnapped Rose and Wyston to get back at us?”  
“At this point it wouldn’t surprise me,” Father answered. “But why would she have taken Wyston? What did he have to do with it?”  
“I don’t know. Maybe she just saw that he was a close friend of hers and…”  
“Hold on,” Slade said, holding up his hand. “Ruth was angry at you for coming here?”  
“Yes,” Mother answered remorsefully. “Her husband had recently died, and she had no one else. I can’t blame her for being hurt that we were about to abandon her. I wish I could say I knew why we felt our actions were justifiable; it just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. We felt that God had called us here, and in his great mercy he would have ensured Ruth was cared for — in fact, we made plans for her to stay with Timothy’s brother.”  
“And I take it she wasn’t having that?”  
“No. She was quite upset.”   
Mr. and Mrs. Davis, who had never been told the whole story before, stared at the Peabodys with a stunned expression.   
“You know something?” Mr. Davis said. “I would be mad too. That’s low, folks — really low.”  
Maxwell hung his head in shame; he had never felt more guilty in his life. Why was it that it had taken all this to make him realize how cruel they had been to Ruth? If his hunch was correct, and she really had destroyed the temple and kidnapped Wyston and Rose as a means of reprisal, then the family had no one to blame for it but themselves. In abandoning her as if she were nothing more than an old toy, they had created this monster.  
“We have to find her,” Mother said, tears streaming down her face. “Nothing we could say could ever make up for…but at least if we apologized, then maybe…”  
Father put his arm around her and said, “You’re right. Brother Brigham is speaking on forgiveness tomorrow at Caymer Park. Dear God, if only she could be there to listen.”


	28. Rose

On Thursday morning Ruth made Rose a large breakfast of omelettes, bacon, strawberries, and biscuits.  
“It is of the upmost importance that you are well fed today,” she told Rose, offering her a spoonful of oatmeal as if she were a little child. “Eat.”  
Rose reluctantly finished off her meal. Wyston was chained to the wall, and only given a scrap of toast for breakfast.  
“Why aren’t you making Wyston eat?” Rose asked. “Look how weak he is!”  
“Because I’ve decided he will stay at the house,” she replied lazily.  
“What?!”  
Ruth glared at her. “There is absolutely no reason you can’t pull this off on your own. I’ve watched you both attempt the curse, and between you and him, well…it was most certainly you, Rose dear.”  
Rose opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.  
“Now listen: I will go into town with you, but only for the sake of keeping an eye on you. Don’t try anything cute, because I’ll finish you off on the spot. You know where to stand, and you know just the right moment you need to make your move. If things go downhill I will intervene, but I can’t foresee any situation in which the plan could be thwarted.”  
She laughed suddenly. “Just imagine…it will hit him out of the blue. Filthy Muggle won’t even see it coming until it’s too late.”  
Rose’s stomach lurched as she pictured the scenario.  
_But you know this is the right thing to do._  
Ruth went on. “As soon as it’s done there will no doubt be wide scale panic on the streets. I will do my best to cast a memory charm over the crowd, but if a few manage to escape its effects, so be it — they can’t _prove_ to anyone that what they witnessed was magic. Besides, who in their right mind would believe a group of people as bizarre as these? The second you hit him with the curse you need to flee the scene; the wand you’re using is unregistered, so don’t worry about those fools at MACUSA tracking you down. Head back to the house as soon as possible, and I will meet you there. If all goes according to plan, both you and Wyston will be set free.”  
Wyston caught Rose’s eye, and she couldn’t help but notice the intense look of fear and pleading on his face. It was as if he wanted to tell her, _Please don’t mess this up._  
“The speech begins at two, but we need to get there early. In fact, it wouldn’t hurt to leave now.”  
Rose obediently put on a large sunbonnet to conceal her face, and followed Ruth outside.  
“Take the horse,” Ruth instructed. “Because I’m not going to waste time trying to find you after you’ve done it — you need to head straight back here, and fast.”  
Rose climbed on the back of the stolen horse, which Ruth had tied to the back of the house, and brought it around front.  
“I’m going to Apparate to the hills east of town. Meet me there.”  
And with a loud crack Ruth was gone.  
_This is it,_ Rose thought, a tear sliding down her cheek.  
She met Ruth at the designated spot nearly a half hour later. The old witch was grinning profusely when she arrived.  
“Ah, just in time!” she said, helping Rose off the horse. “It’s nearly twelve — I think we ought to head into town now.”  
Ruth tied the horse to a tree, and together the two women descended the hill into the city.  
“Take care to hide your face!” Ruth hissed to Rose as a family passed them in a wagon. Rose pulled her bonnet closer around her face, keeping her head down.  
Ruth took Rose’s hand and guided her towards the center of town. It was an unusually busy Thursday on the street, as the Mormon prophet would soon make a public appearance at Caymer Park.  
“All right, here we go,” Ruth said, ushering Rose into a narrow alley behind the park. “Wait here until the moment comes. When it does, only step out far enough that you can get a good shot on him. I will be watching from behind that building over there — ” she pointed to a general store across the street from the alley “ — ensuring that no one harms you. Remember, as soon as it’s done, _get out of here immediately.”_  
Rose nodded, her whole body trembling with fear. Ruth, noticing this, planted a soft kiss on her forehead. “Don’t be afraid, child. You are doing the world an enormous good. Just think of it: one day your children will learn in school about the heroic act you carried out this day, and will be so grateful that you spared them from a dangerous religious cult.”  
Rose managed a weak smile, and Ruth patted her on the cheek. “That’s right. Now do Ruth proud, honey.”  
The old woman took a wand out of her robes and handed it to the girl.


	29. Maxwell

Brigham Young was due to speak at Caymer Park in two hours, and for the time being, the Peabodys and Davises agreed to try to put their troubles behind them as they listened to the words of their beloved prophet. Slade and Jeremiah informed them that they would be hidden amongst the crowd, just in case Ruth were to return.   
People continued to pour into the park, determined to get an early start on the crowd, while others parked their wagons along the side of the street, content to watch from afar.   
In the seven months that he’d lived in Salt Lake Maxwell had never seen the prophet. While listening to the missionary discussions back in England, living in the Salt Lake Valley with the other Saints and being in the presence of the leadership would have seemed nothing more than a fantasy to him. And yet here he was, mere hours away from hearing the words of God’s spokesman himself.   
He noticed the Aurors standing directly behind them. They were staring to their left, at something seemingly on the other side of the street.  
Maxwell approached them apprehensively and whispered, “Is something wrong?”  
Slade was pale in the face, and Jeremiah’s mouth was wide open.   
“It’s her,” Jeremiah said, and before anybody had time to react, both Aurors were pushing their way through the crowd to the street.  
Maxwell squinted in the direction they were heading, but couldn’t see Ruth.  
“We have to follow them!” Maxwell said to his parents, but Father jerked him back by his arm.   
“Are you _mad,_ son?” Father snarled. “We can’t let her see us. If she sees us she runs for it, and we may never find her again. The Aurors know what they’re doing — don’t interfere with their job.”  
Now, the Davises had tuned in to what was happening, and joined the Peabodys in anxiously watching the Aurors as they walked over the general store.   
“Which one is Ruth?” Mrs. Davis asked the Peabodys. “There have got to be a hundred people over there!”  
Mother shook her head and replied, “I don’t know, I can’t even see her. But Jeremiah seems to think he saw someone who matched the description.”   
Maxwell craned his neck to see further, and noticed that both of the Aurors had disappeared from sight. In a split second of irrational thought and unrestrained curiosity, Maxwell broke away from his family and ran towards the general store.  
“Max!” he heard Mother call.  
“I’ll be careful!” he responded, turning to glance at her as he ran. “I won’t let her see me.”   
He stood against the far side of the building and peered around the corner. Neither the Aurors nor Ruth were anywhere to be found.   
Determined to catch up to them Maxwell hurried down the street, desperately glancing every which way in an attempt to spot the wizards in a sea of no-maj’s.   
Upon reaching the edge of the city’s eastern perimeter he finally noticed them — Slade and Jeremiah crouched behind an enormous boulder perched along the grassy side of the mountain hills. Both of them had their wands drawn.  
Sensing the urgency of the situation, Maxwell dropped flat on his stomach, the tall grass concealing his body. He raised his head just enough so that he could see the Aurors, about thirty feet ahead of him.   
“Ruth!” Jeremiah shouted. “We know you’re there, and we know what you’ve done! You’d be making things a lot easier on all of us if you’d just come out and — ”  
“Ha!” a voice responded from the small wooded area in front of the Aurors. Maxwell instantly recognized it as Ruth’s. “As if! I know exactly what you have in mind, and I haven’t got the time for such matters — not today, fellows.”  
“Then you admit to stealing that Thunderbird?” Jeremiah asked. “It sounds like you’re aware there’s a warrant out for your arrest.”  
Ruth gave a mocking laugh. “I figured as much, yes. I’ll gladly go into MACUSA, pay whatever sort of fine, whatever sort of jail sentence you fools see fit to impose on me — just not today! I have important business to attend to in town, and it is imperative I don’t miss anything.”  
“What sort of business?” Slade asked suspiciously.  
“Never you mind!” Ruth snapped.   
“Unfortunately, ma’am, we need you to come with us _now,”_ Slade told her firmly. He and Jeremiah slowly stood up from the behind the boulder, preparing to detain Ruth. “Whatever it is you’ve got to do will have to wait until another time. Now we’re going to give you one more chance; if you come with us willingly, you won’t get hurt.”  
The small figure of Ruth Jenkins emerged from the trees. She was smiling wickedly, like a child hiding some misdeed from her parents. Maxwell could tell straight away that this Ruth was someone drastically different than the Ruth he had known back in England. What had changed in her? What happened to the sweet little old Ruth that had held him on her lap and fed him sweet cakes as a young child?  
The Aurors hurried over to her and grabbed her by either arm.  
Ruth seemed amused at this, and chuckled. “Think you’ll be taking me _this_ easily? Think again!”  
“INCARCEROUS!” the Aurors roared, but they were too late — the second the ropes sprung from their wands, Ruth was gone in a blinding flash.   
_“Dammit!”_ Slade yelled.  
Maxwell stood up and looked around, but couldn’t see where Ruth had gotten off to.  
“Peabody!” Jeremiah growled at Maxwell. “What are you doing here?”  
“I’m sorry,” Maxwell stammered sheepishly. “I just wanted to see…”  
“The glamour involved with the job? Well, here you have it — this is the reality of things, boy. No matter how experienced you are, no matter how many wizards you’ve successfully captured, there’s always one that will manage to outwit you at the last minute.”  
“Look!” Slade shouted, pointing down the hill. “She’s heading back towards town!”  
Without a word the Aurors sped into action, furiously casting spells as they ran towards the old woman. Maxwell followed them.  
One of their spells hit the side of a house, Ruth having dodged it just in time. She and the Aurors began to duel, but the struggle was short-lived, as one of the Aurors’ spells hit her squarely in the chest and she fell to the ground unconscious.   
The Aurors examined her for a moment, and Slade said to Maxwell, “She took a pretty nasty hit, and what with her age…it could be several days before she comes to. We won’t be able to interrogate her until then.”  
“What will happen to her?” Maxwell asked.   
“Well, the trafficking of magical beats carries a heavy penalty, and she’ll also be charged with resisting arrest. If convicted on both accounts, it’s likely your friend will be spending the rest of her days in prison. I’m sorry, kid.”  
Maxwell nodded sadly and murmured, “I don’t blame you guys, you’re just doing your job.”  
Jeremiah patted him on the shoulder. “And it’s really thanks to you that we caught her. If you hadn’t seen her that day at the park and told us about it, we probably wouldn’t have even known she was here.”  
“I still can’t figure out _why_ she was here, and from the looks of it — ” he glanced down at Ruth’s limp body “— it will be a while yet before we know anything.”  
“We’d best be off,” Slade said. Together he and Jeremiah hoisted Ruth up and carried her by either arm. “We’ll take her back to headquarters and see about getting her some medical attention.”


	30. Wyston

Wyston’s heart thumped wildly as he looked out the window at the sleeping chimera guarding the door.   
_If only I had my wand,_ he thought desperately.   
He had made up his mind that, come hell or high water, he was going to escape from the house to get help. It was currently one-twenty-three in the afternoon, which meant he had less than an hour to do what he could to prevent Rose from being forced to commit murder.   
He searched the small house for anything he could use as a weapon against Glomper. He found nothing, however, that could give him a reasonable chance at getting past the gargantuan beast outside.   
_There’s got to be a way._  
There was another window in the house placed in the north wall, opposite the door. Although it was small, Wyston figured he would be able to squeeze through it. It didn’t have a latch that would enable one to open it, however, so he would have to break it.   
_How can I do that without alerting Glomper?_ he wondered.  
The clock near the stove now read one-thirty-five. Time was ticking.  
Wyston began frantically picking at the plaster sealing holding the glass frame in place, hoping that it would loosen it enough for him to pull it out, but his efforts proved futile. He hadn’t managed to remove the plaster, but he had removed the tips of his fingernails.  
_There’s no other way,_ he thought. _I’ve got to smash that window open._  
He checked out the front window to make sure that Glomper was still sleeping, and walked back over to the north one. He grabbed a large wooden spoon off the table and began hitting the glass with its end — he did so gently, in attempt to find the quietest effective pressure. Slowly but surely the window began to crack, and disregarding his already bleeding fingers, he tore the shreds of glass away. A few hits later, he was able to clear the window completely. He quickly hoisted his body through the opening and fell onto the grass outside.   
Wyston tiptoed past the side of the house and peered around the corner at Glomper, who, much to his relief, was still fast asleep.   
His mind raced as he thought about what to do next. He needed to get into town as quickly as possible, but it would easily take him five to ten minutes to make it over the horizon and out of Glomper’s view — what if he woke up before then? Even if he did manage to escape the house unscathed, he knew that his chances of making it to Salt Lake on foot in under twenty-five minutes were slim at best.   
A wave of adrenaline swept through his body, and he took off at a dead run towards the city.   
_Don’t think about it — just go!_  
Not until he was a reasonable distance away from the house did he dare throw a glance over his shoulder back at Glomper. The chimera remained at the front door, sleeping, and Wyston’s heart lifted with relief. Now, if he could just make it into town and alert the Peabodys without attracting the attention of Ruth, this nightmare would finally come to an end.   
_I’m coming, Rose._


	31. Maxwell

He found his family and the Davises still waiting for him at Caymer Park when he returned. As shocked as they were to hear about the Aurors’ encounter with Ruth in the hills, Mother didn’t forget to warn her son of a “severe reprimand” coming to him when they got home.   
“What’s gotten into Ruth?” Father sighed. “I still can’t wrap my mind around it — but I suppose we won’t know anything of her motivations until she wakes.”  
“The Aurors said that could be a while,” Maxwell told him.   
“What time is it, Timothy?” Mother asked. “The prophet should be speaking any minute.”   
Father pulled his pocket watch out of his robes and responded, “You’re right — it’s two o’clock exactly.”  
Five more minutes passed and there was still no sign of Brigham Young. The crowd began to murmur anxiously.  
“Probably nothing to worry about,” Father said, turning to Mother. “He’s a busy man.”  
At that moment a small man in a top hat approached the podium and announced that the prophet was, indeed, running late, and wouldn’t be arriving at the park for another half hour.   
Several people groaned, and a few packed up their things to leave.   
“Shameful,” Mother said, shaking her head in disapproval as she watched the crowd begin to thin. “Patience is a virtue that apparently many, even among the Saints, have failed to acquire.”  
“Mother, I want some milk,” Fanny said. “Would it be all right if I went home to get a drink?”  
“I suppose you’ve got time,” Mother agreed. “But I’d like Max to go with you.”  
Figuring that he’d gotten himself into enough trouble for the day, Maxwell made no protest, but took his sister by the hand and marched off towards home. Once there he poured her a glass of milk and checked the clock.   
“We’ve got to start heading back soon,” he said. “Hurry and drink that.”  
Before Fanny had finished her milk a frantic knocking sounded at the door. Maxwell got up to answer it, and to his shock, found Wyston standing on the other side.   
“Wyston!”  
“Maxwell!”  
The two called each other’s names simultaneously, stunned at their sudden reunion.  
“Wyston, where have you —”  
“No time to explain,” Wyston said breathlessly. “Where are your folks? I need to speak to them now.”  
“At Caymer Park,” Maxwell replied. “Brother Brigham is due to make an appearance there soon.”  
Wyston closed his eyes and breathed a deep sigh of relief. “You mean he isn’t there yet?”  
“Nope, he’s running late, he was supposed to speak at two.”  
“Thank God,” Wyston muttered. “I saw hordes of people heading the opposite direction and was afraid I was too late.”  
Confused, Maxwell asked, “How did you know…? Have you been in _town_ this whole time? We’ve all been worried SICK about you. And Rose…where is she, Wyston? Do you know? For Pete’s sake, tell me — ”  
“I will explain everything later!” Wyston said sharply. “But right now we need to get to the park immediately.”  
Not seeing any use in making further inquiries, Maxwell grabbed Fanny and hurried out of the house. Together the three of them practically ran back to Caymer Park.   
As soon as they arrived and the Davises spotted their son, they threw themselves on him.  
_“Wyston!”_ Mrs. Davis sobbed as scores of people in the crowd looked on. “Where have you been, son?! Do you have any idea how worried —”  
“Rose is in trouble!” Wyston said, ignoring his Mother and turning to the Peabodys. “It was Ruth — Ruth forced her to do it — she didn’t want to, believe me.”  
“Hold on,” Father said. “What kind of trouble? And how do you know about Ruth?”  
“She forced me to go with her,” Wyston said in a rush. “That’s where I’ve been all these weeks. She’s been holding Rose captive, too, at this abandoned house outside of town. I know she was a close friend of yours, Mr. and Mrs. Peabody, and I know you thought she was dead, but she’s not; she’s alive and she —” he cut off, beginning to cry “ — she’s not a good person! She says she followed you here from England to seek some sort of revenge for your leaving her. There’s a lot more to the story, but I’ll have to explain all that later — right now we need to find Rose, because Ruth has set her up to kill the prophet. She’s probably somewhere in town, here in the crowd, waiting for him to arrive.”  
None of them seemed to know how to react to Wyston’s words, and for a moment stood dumbfounded, starting at him in silence.   
“Let’s go,” Father said numbly, his face stricken white. “We’ll find her.”  
As the two families dispersed, Maxwell told Wyston that Ruth had been captured by the Aurors.   
“Boy, am I glad to hear that,” Wyston responded, running alongside Maxwell up the street. “I know for sure I would have been a goner if she’d caught me here.”  
They searched the whole park and surrounding streets but found no sign of Rose. Maxwell could sense that Mother, especially, was in a desperate state of panic, yet was managing to maintain a calm demeanor for the sake of her husband and children.   
“I can’t imagine my sister killing anybody,” Maxwell said to Wyston and Klea. “She wouldn’t go through with it.”  
Wyston didn’t make eye contact with him, but replied, “It wasn’t her idea — trust me, the only way she’d do something like this is if she thought there was no other way…if she was threatened.”  
At this Maxwell stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face Wyston. “What are you saying?”  
“I’m saying that Ruth can be very manipulative, and has a tendency for using the things that people love the most against them.”  
“Wait,” Maxwell continued softly, beginning to understand. “Did Ruth tell Rose that she would hurt us if she didn’t do this?”  
Slowly, Wyston nodded. “Yes. Your sister fought the plan at first, and did everything she possibly could to convince Ruth to just let this all go. But then something inside her snapped — I guess it was the realization that she never _would_ see you guys again if she didn’t obey the old hag’s orders.”  
Maxwell’s shock was now turning to anger. “We’ve got to find her and let her know that Ruth can no longer hurt her — that she’s gone from our lives for good. She would never be able to live with herself if she ends up going through with this plan just to find out what we know now.”


	32. Rose

_Dear Family,_  
_No words could begin to suffice as apology for my heinous actions, so I won’t even try. All I will tell you is that I did what I did of my own accord, and for what reason I’m not sure._  
_I wish I could say there is peace in doubt, peace in the state of accepting things as they simply are, but I have not found that to be the case. I have always been someone who has needed an explanation for everything. It is not enough for me that everything should be down to coincidence and random spontaneity._  
_But unfortunately I have come to the depressing conclusion that we exist for no other reason than “because.” People will continue to be born, grow up, fall in love, have children of their own, die, and repeat the cycle. And for what? Is there some sort of grand fulfillment or divine purpose for all these experiences that make us human? How can love exist if it simply goes away after we die — why even bother loving if you know it will lead to nothing in the end? I have always loved each one of you — or I thought I did. But now I am completely unsure of my emotions. You see, I am a person who can no longer bear to love, as it is my unfortunate understanding that such things are pointless._  
_You may say that each of us has a soul, and that it was created by God. But I don’t believe in such a being anymore. In fact, I don’t think I ever truly did. What I wanted more than anything in life was the knowledge of a supreme creator and a meaning to my existence; I searched everywhere for answers, and pleaded to heaven with all my heart for a reply, or any sort of sign that I was being acknowledged. When answers failed to come I began to lose hope. I understand the concept of faith, and letting my wisdom grow in God’s perfect timing, but how can any God expect one to believe in him without giving them something — anything — to so much as plant the seed of faith?_  
_My existence is meaningless, and so is yours. Nobody on this planet has a reason for existing other than “because,” it’s just that the majority of them are too clever to realize this. What other species on earth would sit around and contemplate the reasons for its existence?_  
_Well, I must confess, I am neither willing nor capable to deal with that reality. You must think that makes me a coward, and I don’t care; the truth is, I don’t care about anything or anyone anymore. I was brought here by Ruth to assassinate the prophet, but the only one who will die today is me. I believed I would be doing a service for the greater good by bringing down the church, but the more I think about it, the more I realize I no longer have interest in any sort of greater good. I care nothing for other people, so why would I extend them the luxury of making their lives better? If there is one thing I feel I owe myself it is the ability to meet my end on my own terms, and in my own timing._  
_By the time you read this I will be dead. Come to think of it, I’m not even sure why I bothered writing you this note — it is pointless, really, as you too will die someday, and with you the content here. I suppose there may just be a small part of humanity left in me; a small part that doesn’t want my family to spend the remainder of their days wondering “why did she do it?”_  
_But I cannot afford to dwell on these silly fantasies any longer. When the time comes I may choose to do away with the prophet, and I may not. I’ve found that when one is in a state of not caring, they tend to change their mind on a whim. Either way it doesn’t matter, because you, and every other person out there in that park will die someday. You don’t matter, and it is pure foolishness to assume otherwise._  
_I am sorry things had to come to this, but we all reach our breaking points. If there is one emotion that can’t be feigned it is pain, and right now I am in the most pain I have ever been in in my life. I can’t go on living and caring about things when I know deep down that it is all meaningless. It hurts too much. I hope that one day you can bring yourself to forgive me. I love you and I wish you the best — whatever that means._  
_For what it is worth,_  
_Your Daughter Rose._

 

Suddenly she noticed that the chatter surrounding the nearby Caymer Park had quieted down. She peeked out from the alley and saw that Brigham Young had taken his place on the podium.


	33. Maxwell

At last Brigham Young had arrived at the park and begun to speak.  
Knowing that at any moment Rose could emerge from the shadows and carry out Ruth’s evil plan, the two families continued to frantically search the entire area surrounding Caymer Park.   
_She’s got to be around here somewhere,_ Maxwell thought, his heart pounding with each step he took.   
“Wyston,” Father said, running to catch up with Wyston and Maxwell. “Did Ruth mention anything — anything at all — about where Rose would be waiting?”  
“No,” Wyston replied. “Not that I know of, anyway. But she can’t be too far…”  
They pushed their way through the busy crowds on the street, calling Rose’s name.   
At last Maxwell heard Father call, from somewhere up ahead, “Rose! She’s here!”  
Maxwell, Mother, Fanny, and the Davises hurried towards the sound of Father’s voice, and found him crouched in a small space between two buildings. Huddled in front of him, against the side of the left building, was Rose. She was wearing a large bonnet that all but covered her face, and a blue calico dress with a cream-colored pinafore; she sat with her chin propped on her knees, and she was twiddling a wand in her fingers, as if contemplating whether or not to use it. She did not react to them — in fact, it didn’t look as though she was even aware of their presence, despite them hovering directly in front of her.   
“Rose,” Mother said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Baby…what are you…?”  
None of them made a move to touch her, and she remained still.  
“Timothy,” Mother whispered to Father, “Do you think she’s…?”  
Father didn’t seem to know how to respond; he just remained staring at his daughter.  
“Rose, honey,” Mother continued, kneeling down to face her. “Can you hear us?”  
Once again Rose gave no indication that she had heard her. Her eyes remained fixed on the wall in front of her — they looked like death, Maxwell thought. Rose’s once bright blue eyes now seemed to be devoid of life, as if her body lived on, but her soul did not. Not even in the days of her worst depression had he seen her in such a state, and it frightened him.  
Suddenly he noticed a folded piece of paper on the ground next to her. He picked it up and read it, and what the note contained shook him to his core.   
“Mother! Father!” he cried, handing it to them.   
They read it together in silence.  
“No,” Mother whispered, scrunching up the paper in her hand.  
She dove to the ground and flung her arms around Rose.  
“How could you _think_ to do something like this?” she sobbed, but Rose remained stiff as a statue.  
“Mr. Peabody,” Mr. Davis said, putting a comforting hand on Father’s shoulder. “Is everything all right?”  
For a moment Father did not respond. He rubbed his eyes with his hand, emerging looking suddenly older.   
“No,” he said. “No, everything is not all right.”  
He took Fanny by the hand, and with Maxwell trailing him, the rest of the Peabodys gathered around Mother and Rose.   
With Mother’s guidance Rose managed to stand up, though she retained her thousand yard stare and silent demeanor. Father lead the family out from the alley.   
“Timothy, we’re going home,” Mother told Father stiffly, and he nodded in agreement. “Our daughter can’t stay here — we never should have come in the first place.”  
The Peabodys slowly walked away without saying a word to the Davises. Brigham Young’s voice rang hollow in the distance.  
_And to think,_ Maxwell thought numbly, just an hour ago I actually cared what he had to say.  
His world had been turned upside down that day, and during the walk back to the house, it struck him just how uncertain the future now was. Rose had been saved in the nick of time, but there was no guarantee she was safe. Would she get better, or would she eventually attempt to take her life again? And what would happen to Ruth?   
He was in one place one day, and in another the next. Would this cycle of instability ever stop? He did not know if they would ever return to America, but in that moment he didn’t care either way. All he wanted was for his family to be normal again, if such a thing was even possible. After everything they’d been through, did they not at least deserve that?  
_Why, God?_ he asked angrily.   
A response did not come, but at that point he no longer expected one.


	34. 90 Years Later - Fanny

_June 1, 1948_

_The time has come for me to tell the story…_

The laughter of the children outside distracted Fanny, but she didn’t care. Setting her journal aside, she slowly got up from her rocking chair and made her way over to the open kitchen window. Three of her great-grandchildren, Donald, Billy, and Imogene were engaged on what appeared to be a rather rough game of Quidditch in the backyard.   
Fanny and her husband Silas lived on a large estate in Norfolk, and were frequently visited by their children and their families. That week it was their grandson Pete, his wife Hazel, and their three children that were staying. Each and every time Fanny looked into the face of one her precious descendants she couldn’t help but feel an enormous sense of gratitude for him or her, and a grave understanding of just how differently things could have turned out if the events on that day, ninety years ago, had gone the another way.   
The youngest of the children, four-year-old Billy, was suddenly hit in the face by a toy bludger, and fell off his broom. Fanny was not concerned, however, as the broom rose no more than a few feet off the ground.   
“Hey!” he called to his older siblings, straightening himself up. “Play fair, will you?”  
Shaking her head in amusement, Fanny went to sit back down. She picked up her quill and continued to write.

_Looking at our family today, it is hardly conceivable that one would imagine the course of our lifetimes being filled with anything other than smiles and laughter. In fact, it should be noted that in many ways, we are the typical LDS family — happy, prosperous, and faithful. However, this was not always so…  
Ninety years ago, when my family was living in the Salt Lake Valley, my elder sister Rose was kidnapped and set up to commit a terrible act of violence against the prophet of our church. We found her before she was able to carry out the plan, but she was in a state…such an awful state. I’ll never forget it.   
The following month we boarded a ship back to England, and never returned. I remember Mother and Father saying that it would be better for the whole family, especially Rose, to be back home where we belonged. But despite their efforts my sister was never the same again. The year I started Hogwarts she tried to take her life a second time.  
None of us knows what stopped her from doing it that one day in Salt Lake. She had the note prepared at her side, but from what we could tell hadn’t even attempted to curse herself. She wouldn’t utter a word about it from the moment we found her in that alley til the moment she took her last breath four years ago. And why did she not attack Brigham Young? We never found out the answers to these questions, and sadly never will.   
Perhaps the spirit was indeed still with her, and convinced her to give life another chance; perhaps she wanted to tell her family a proper goodbye; or perhaps she simply lost her nerve at the last minute.  
The events of the ordeal she went through ninety years ago changed Rose permanently. In fact, I don’t believe I saw her so much as smile from then on. Though she authored three, widely successful spellbooks, and was constantly surrounded by loving family, nothing seemed to bring her true joy. This pained us deeply.  
I suppose I ought to count myself lucky in that I have never experienced such a loss of the spirit — such a complete alienation from God — that I would even contemplate life being meaningless. Mother and Father did not disclose the content of Rose’s note to me until I was much older, and even then I could not understand it. How could any person feel so low as my sister did? How could any dear soul forget their true nature, that is a child of the Almighty? Again I am thankful my faith has not been tested in such a drastic way — I can only imagine how difficult it must have been for her to cope with those type of doubts.   
We kept in regular contact with the Davises, and have frequently visited back and forth. Sadly, both Wyston and Klea have since passed away, joining their parents in the celestial kingdom of heaven. Forever will I be grateful for their friendship.   
Ruth Jenkins was convicted on multiple charges, including arson and attempted murder, and sentenced to life in prison. We never saw or heard from her again, and none of us was sorry for it. Seeing as she was well over one hundred years old at the time of her capture, she must be long dead by now.   
Speaking of Ruth, something was recovered at the house she had been holding Rose and Wyston. Before we returned to England, Auror Slade and Auror Jeremiah presented us with a patchwork quilt that they said they had found at the house. As they had already consulted with Wyston and concluded that it didn’t belong to him, Rose explained that it was Ruth’s, and Ruth had brought it along with her to America for some unknown reason. Rose asked if she could keep it. Why she would want to keep one of the belongings of the woman who had caused her so much pain I still fail to understand, but nevertheless the Aurors obliged her request and turned the quilt over to her. She never revealed to us what special meaning it had, or why it was so important to her, but she kept it until the day she died.  
I am the only member of my immediate family still living, though I suppose that isn’t much of a shock, as I am the youngest. Mother and Father passed away in twenty-two and thirty-five, respectively, and Maxwell came down with a fatal case of dragon pox immediately after the war. In just three years time, if the good Lord above sees it fit to bestow upon me such longevity, I will reach my centennial birthday. I do not fear death, however, as my faith in eternal families and the plan of salvation has never waned. I know I will be reunited with my loved ones, and that brings me great comfort.  
But Rose…my dear sister Rose. I am writing today with her in mind. Recently the realization has struck me that she likely spent her entire life without the certainty the rest of us had — without the testimony of God’s plan. How much more frightening must it have been for her as she lay on her deathbed, thinking that she would go to sleep never to wake up again? Rose may have been able to imagine such a reality, but I — thank God — could not bring myself to even if I wanted to.  
You know, it’s a funny thing, faith. The more I’ve thought about it over the course of my life the more I’ve realized it is not something that can be learned, nor forced upon a person. That innate sense of knowing — that deep understanding that there is more to our lives than meets the eye — can only come naturally, whether by divine intervention or not. Oh yes, my family has been through its share of challenging times. Upon arriving back in England Maxwell shared with me some of his private feelings concerning God and the church. I found it interesting that even a boy as outwardly believing as he could have such strong inner doubts. Thankfully he, unlike Rose, regained his light, but I think it was then, as a young girl, that I became aware of just how fickle our beliefs can be. That is why I believe it is so important to constantly strive to maintain our connection to God even when we don’t want to, or feel we are talking to thin air. It is only God, see, that can nurture the seed of faith in our hearts — all the books in the world could not give you that sort of knowledge.   
Though it’s been four years since Rose passed, not a day goes by that I don’t think of her. I’ve never relayed my feelings about her to this extent, much less on paper, but as I know I am not guaranteed one more day at my age, I am pressed to make an account — however small — of how deeply I loved my sister. I have no doubt that her soul is at peace now._

From outside Imogene called, “Come watch us play, Grandma!”   
“I’ll be right there, dear,” Fanny replied, smiling. 

_Though I consider myself a strong woman of faith, I do not pretend to know all there is to know about God’s greatness. I do not know how he goes about all he does, as it defies logic, and I still don’t understand why my family had to suffer in the ways that we did. But I believe we will have these answers someday, and until then, I’m choosing not to worry. For now, I know that the only thing I am guaranteed is the agency to make of this life what I will, and I refuse to let a single chance at happiness go to waste. Simply by our existence we have been given the greatest gift of all…_

_“Adam fell that men might be; and men are, that they might have joy.” 2 Nephi 2:25_

_And so today, in honor of my sister Rose, I will choose joy. I will choose hope. I will choose love. And I will make peace with uncertainty. For my darling sister, that is the least I can do._

_Forever Grateful,_

_Fanny._

Fanny put her journal down, opened the kitchen door, and stepped out into the brilliant June sun.


End file.
